


Confirmation

by Left_Handed_Rick



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bible Spanking, Bondage, Chrism as Lube, Church AU, Church Sex, Clothed Sex, Cockwarming, Collars, Confessional Booth Sex, Cuckolding, Dacryphilia, Dark Humor, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domdrop, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Explorations of Morality, Explorations of Theism, Faith Crisis, Frottage, Grooming, Humiliation, Impact Play, Intercurral Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Masochistic Self-harm by Proxy, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Mutual Masturbation, Non Negotiated BDSM, Object Insertion, Orgasm Milking, Other, Pining, Polyamorous Relationships, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Prayer During Sex, Premature Ejaculation, Priest Kink, References to Prostitution, Resisting temptation, Restraint, Rosary Bondage, Sadism, Self-Flagellation, Sensory Overload, Sex Play Using Religious Items, Simultaneous Praise/Degradation, Sinners and Saints - Freeform, Sinwich, Size Difference, Subdrop, Tandem Topping, Throuple, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Various forms of God Complexes, Votive Candle Wax Play, Voyeurism, Wet Dream, apple gag, dom/sub dynamics, grandaddy kink, love triangle to throuple, pecatiphillia, polyship, power!bottom Morty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Rick/pseuds/Left_Handed_Rick
Summary: Morty begins questioning his faith in The Church of The Infinite Rick.See A/N for additional information on tags.





	1. Limbo (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostyGooGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostyGooGirl/gifts).



> _A/N: This is my gift for my Secret Santa who requested a Naughty and Nice Church AU. Ghosty! I checked the list of kinks twice. Merry Ricksmas ya filthy sinner! Also, Huge thanks to beta readers, Orgy and Smushed._
> 
> ###  Extras For This fic 
> 
>        
>  [ ✦ Confirmation Fic Webpage ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/confirmation.html)
> 
>     
> 
> ###  Author's Note/Introduction 
> 
> **Dead Dove: Do Not Eat:** This fic carries with it the usual problematic ship tags for RickMorty, and I’m likely preaching to the Choir here (aha), but this being a Church themed AU with an underage ship, Here is the only and obvious content warning: This fic will joke around, reference and make commentary on child molestation/abuse in various cults and religions. This is a work of _fiction_ ; however, and does not condone such things happening in reality. 
> 
> **What You're Getting Into With this Fic:** Content does include erotica, but I also wanted this fic to be an exploration of cults/religion as a social institution. I wanted to leverage the coming-of-age narratives, and tie it into ideas of belief and morality (with the added ambiguity of an RAM theistic-existential and sometimes absurdist lens). I also wanted to try keeping a tone of dark humor in tackling things like purity culture, kink, and religion, and in nothing-is-sacred Rick and Morty fashion, I wanted to play around with the conventional storytelling tropes of good and evil. That said, this is still Rick Sanchez, and ideas like “good” or “evil” are glaringly subjective. This fic will dip into the various aspects of their God complexes, which will have sinister overtones of possessiveness, grooming, and ownership while on the “good” side, it explores a benevolently passive-possessive, sometimes infantilizing savior complex. 
> 
> Lastly, while Morty gives enthusiastic consent, there are still questions of grooming and power imbalances in his relationship that this fic will explore but will not clearly answer. This fic is intentionally morally ambiguous as it explores the messy gray areas between black and white, which may or may not be for you. 
> 
> **Courtesy Warnings (CW):** This fic is going to go balls deep in power dynamics and power exchanges as it explores the parallels of religion and kink culture. The BD/sM dynamics between the priests are non-negotiated and take the form of self-harm by proxy, (It's assumed, there's some unspoken mutual agreement that happens before the story starts, but it's really handwavey and this fic only vaguely references it.) The Rickcest angle of this ship is dysfunctionally functional. 
> 
> **Other major courtesy warnings for:** reinterpretation of religious ideas and concepts for plot purposes, heavy sacrilege, and irreverent use of religious, mostly Catholic objects and imagery for sexual play, themes of intense guilt/anxiety/shame, implications of grooming, cult brainwashing, manipulation, coerced molestation, exploitation/abuse of religious power and authority, use of confessional to solicit sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” —The Gates of Hell, Dante’s Inferno_

“I don't give handouts! Go back through the portal you came from!”

Morty held his breath and lowered the Simple Rick's wafer he'd dared to trade for a hot meal (even if it was some sort of tentacle on a stick). The Rick sneered at the question, insulted by it, and shame burned the teenager’s face worse than the pang in Morty’s stomach. Defensively, he looked toward the ground with quivering lips as the Rick scoffed.

“Just cause there’s a little snow out here, you lazy, fuckin’ teenagers think you’re gonna get a little extra sympathy. Yeah, well I hate to be the one to Rick it to ya’, but the only thing that's gone soft this season is my dick.”

With an abrasive gesture, he turned away from the Morty, and returned to work, cheerily greeting the paying customers at the other side of the concession stand. The warm, aromatic spices of mulled wine pressed against the teen’s mind as he stubbornly fought to keep his gaze lowered to the soiled, melting snow at his feet. Unable to control himself, he licked his lips at the enticing thought of being able to forget the cold for even a moment. 

His face flushed with humiliation and too defeated to form a response or an apology, Morty’s bare feet began to fall backward in retreat. He withdrew from the unwanted interaction before it could escalate. The unforgiving wind sent a fresh whiff of roasted sugar and chestnuts into his senses, and the heat of the open flame unrelentingly pulsed against his face. Reluctantly, he pulled further away from the inviting glow as the Rick, irritated, tossed his head back over his shoulder, baring his teeth in warning.

“Get the fuck outta here before I call the- before I volunteer for the neighborhood watch… finally clean up this fuckin’ District.”

The Rick dismissed the Morty and returned to his customers, offering an apologetic aside about the Citadel lowlife. They tsked with narrowed eyes, glancing in the teen’s general direction as they shook their heads in disapproval.

Morty's composure began to break, and the teen turned completely and fled. Pain bit into the unprotected pads of his feet with each hard step. He ran through the blurry atmosphere of snowflakes and multi-colored lights, weaving his way through the flurry of Ricks and Mortys enjoying the commercial holiday. Festive music permeated the Citadel’s downtown shopping center. His path collided with another Rick, and he was accosted with another hateful tone.

“Hey! Watch where you're going!”

“S-s-sorry! I'm sorry!”

Everything was spinning in oversaturated colors around him, and Morty pulled himself to his feet and continued to flee. Ricksmas was a Citadel holiday—gift-wrapped with rarity to guarantee a high commercial demand—and Morty understood his homeless presence, unattractive and uncomfortable, was unwelcomed. 

As he traveled away from the main plaza and into the empty hollow streets, the presence of other Ricks and Mortys tapered. Alone, Morty could almost appreciate the quiet artificial snowfall which had covered the surrounding structures in pillowy blankets. The unceasing accumulation, however, was beginning to worry the teen. Unprepared for the sudden change to his environment, the teen didn’t know what to do. He glanced around. Everything was growing worse by the second.

Sharp winds tossed heavy streams of snow into the air in picturesque swirling contours, and forlorn, Morty followed their patterns, upward into the sky. Overhead, a lattice pattern of ice had encroached the dome’s swell of glass, and the teen couldn’t help but feel that he was trapped in the frozen landscape of a snowglobe.

The stars beyond twinkled with impersonal guidance, and the homeless youth clenched the hem of his soiled yellow shirt, thankful he had at least taken the time to collect pieces of cardboard when the snowfall had first begun. He bit his lip, hoping winter on the Citadel this season would not last long.

Empty handed, Morty returned to his spot, a thick wooden box tucked away into the alley behind Big Rico’s pizzeria. Still thankful for the small protection from the elements, the teen fell to his knees and crawled into its embrace. He held back tears, feeling them freeze as they collected at the corner of his eyes. His body trembled against the elements, and he rubbed his arms, watching the warmth leave with each stream of continued breath.

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

He settled into the embrace of the small box. It was the happiest space on the Citadel he had been able to find. Morty no longer cared for the outside world, deciding that it might be nice to stay in his box forever. He flicked the lighter to life, lighting a candle he’d stolen from a Morty Caroler, and huddled over the meek light, searching for warmth, despite knowing that he was beginning to lose the feeling in his hands and feet. Streams of tears froze against his cheeks, and his heart flickered as he resigned himself to his frostbitten night. 

He was okay with this.

***

Grandfather Rick wandered through the foreign streets of the tourist district, his shepherd's crook offering assistance as he felt his way across the icy ground below. Even beneath the heavy, insulating layers of his cassock and cloak, he felt the chill of wind bite against his flesh. He considered it a welcome distraction from the fiery thoughts consuming his mind. The small motions, briefly eased the pain of his chosen solitude as he continued deeper into the public plaza of the Citadel.

Even though the tourist district was only a short distance, it had been some time since he had walked outside of the Citadel’s convent, among the laity. The church bells quietly sounded in the distance, beckoning him to return, but the grandfather continued his pilgrimage into the night, growing restless at having strayed further and further from his path.

Lost within the secular streets, and without any sense of consolation, Grandfather Rick had found himself experiencing the darkest night of his soul. He aimlessly drifted through the flurry of snow. _How could one’s heart feel so lonely when his heart should have been so full of universal love._

 _Dominus meus pastor est et stella ... ego timeo ne inanis._ _  
_ _(The Star is my shepherd...I shall not fear the void.)_

In the presence of the rare gift of snow on the Citadel, the bishop had impulsively traveled beyond the walls of the monastic structure, yearning to experience the self-evident beauty of creation. Grandfather Rick attempted to return to the simplistic origins of his faith, and in his left hand, he clutched the beads of his rosary, meditating the first prayer as he traveled further into the darkened streets.

 _Deus ex machina, grátia pléna, óra pro nóbis peccatóribus._ _  
_ _(God of the Machine, full of grace, pray for us sinners)_

Carried on the frostbitten wind, a song graced his ears, and with the clarity of a silver bell, an angelic voice traveled through the cold night air. With a force greater than his understanding, Grandfather Rick was drawn toward its source. He entered into the quiet alley, recognizing the song as one of lamentation. From a small, disheveled wooden box ahead, the soft glow of candlelight briefly flickered into the night.

The sight of the emaciated youth was revealed to him, kneeling over the fading light, in his darkest hour of suffering. Mottled fingers wrapped around the candle’s glow, and at the mercy of the harsh elements, his feet had turned alarming shades of blue and purple. 

He would not survive the night.

Treading lightly, Grandfather Rick carefully approached. 

“My son...be not afraid.” 

The youth, who had failed to notice his presence stilled, before lifting his face to gaze upon him. Each eye was lurid with its own hue, either a natural form of heterochromia iridium or the work of a Rick’s genetic alteration. The Morty’s left eye, glowed in warm amber tones, while the right, was the frozen azure blue of the surrounding night. Grandfather was called into the tempered gaze, and the pastoral Rick used his staff for support as he lowered himself to the ground. He soiled his robes in the dirty snow of the alley as he pressed his weight onto his knees, and with gentleness, held the teen’s icy cheek in his palm. He feathered his thumb across the youth’s smooth skin as if he were holding a precious stone.

“Blessed are the light of this Citadel.”

“Grandpa Rick?” The body pressed into the warmth of the older man’s palm in response, closing his eyes as an exhausted voice flickered against him in shallow breaths. “I’m… It’s not cold anymore. I... I think I’m ready to follow you now...”

The shepherd removed his cloak, wrapping the protective garment around the youth, and lifted him, rising to his feet.

“Come, I shall deliver you from this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Coventry Carol** is an old English Carol dating back to the 16th Century. It’s based on the Gospel of Matthew and initially part of a mystery play called The Pageant of the Shearmen and Taylors. it refers to the massacre of infant boys under 2 years in Bethlehem ordered by King Herod who feared for his throne as the birth of a new king was announced. The lyrics are envisioned as a lullaby, sung by mothers to their doomed children.
> 
>  **A hell of a lot of references to Dante’s Inferno:** Limbo wasn’t technically hell, and this chapter is kind of just a prologue. 
> 
> **Little Match Girl Wish Fulfillment:** There are some total shameless nods to Han’s Christian Andersen's Little Match Girl in this chapter. But the Morty lives this time.


	2. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"As the lovers drifted into self-indulgence and were carried sway by their passions, so now they drift for ever. The bright, voluptuous sin is now seen as it is – a howling darkness of helpless discomfort." —Dante’s Inferno_

The Star of Damocles hung over Grandfather Rick’s head, floating above him with a mesmerizing cross-shaped glow. The central symbol of the Citadel’s iconoclastic religion. The bishop, who always used his staff to aid his movements, set the length of rosewood aside to preach. Lovingly, he swung the incense and holy water to cleanse and purify the space—transforming it—as he reverently moved through it. 

Even during the holiest hours of worship, the elder had always dressed in the same set of well-worn garments, and although the layers of cloth had been frayed, the pastoral Rick had continued to lovingly care for them. Their rich black color had lost its original vibrance, and time had faded the threads into a humble charcoal grey. A modest cape draped across his shoulders, followed by the length of a simple powder blue stole, embroidered with inverted white crosses. Beneath the dark layers of fabric, secured around the straight-laced underlayer of a white blouse, a simple wooden rosary hugged the grandfather’s neck, marking the symbol of the elder's continued sacrifice.

“Welcome, elder and young, to the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Stars… May the light of infinite grace be with you.”

_Lumen vobiscum gratia infinita..._

Grandfather Rick’s voice sang out in the ancient language, as his eyes flicked toward Morty—allowing a near-imperceptible smile of pleasure to grace the corner of his mouth—before returning his gaze toward the remaining congregation. The teen’s face flushed, as he sang his “amen” in echo of the mellifluous greeting, inwardly beaming at having been acknowledged.

The minister proceeded to open the divine message against the fragrant backdrop of smoke and flowers. His body, painted beneath the contrasting cosmic hues of multicolored glass.

Against the vibrating timbre of the chapel’s organ, the grandfather walked through the aisles, delivering the message of recursion. Hearts burned like candles, in quiet intention around him. Their brief and flickering existence offered a warm glow to the authoritative presence, who extended loving hands into the void of the universe as if to catch the very strands of light from the stars. Breathless, Morty watched in awe, before forcing himself to avert his admiring gaze. Beneath his breath, he muttered the commandment. 

“Thou shalt have no other Rick’s before me.”

He listened to Grandfather Rick’s hymn, while sullenly chastising himself for the idolatry of the man whom he had owed everything. The familiar creep of guilt tightened in his chest, and the teen let out a forlorn sigh. From the moment Grandfather Rick had opened the doors of the Citadel’s convent and had taken Morty in by _the grace of The Infinite Rick_ , the converted church member had been trying his best to live a life that was worthy of such grace. Morty’s open admiration of the older man, however, was a sin.

For the Rick who he had chosen to follow, the Church was everything, and the bishop had often corrected the teen in a gently chiding tone whilst humbling the altar Morty continuously placed him on. 

_I am the light of the portal, my son. Through my actions, you have been given the gift of everlasting life, but I am merely a shepherd. I must redirect your devotions of love toward that which is greater than my own, singular existence._

Such rejection was a hard concept to reconcile in his heart. The only God Morty could ever feel love toward, was the one created in Grandfather Rick’s image.

He lifted his gaze toward the older man, whose unwavering voice was infused with a tone of love and devotion, and as his azure gaze brushed against Morty’s, the teen felt as if he had been found all over again.

Was it a sin to admire someone for their virtue? To desire them for it? Morty’s thoughts drifted to the fateful night of their encounter.

_The shepherd returned to the embrace of the church carrying Morty’s shivering frame in his arms, and the teen woke late in the night, to find himself in a warm bed, protected from the freezing winter storm. Snow chaotically swirled beyond the colored panes of glass, and as the boy stirred, a searing pain swept needles over his hands and feet._

_With a soft, searching sound, he cried out into the darkness, and within moments, his weak body was wrapped in the loving grandfather’s arms. The pastoral Rick touched his feet, applying a cooling salve, and Morty cried in relief as the pain began to subside._

_“Grampa... ck?…”_

_“I’m here, Morty.”_

_The Rick of the cloth cradled him against his chest, and carefully tipped a bowl of warm soup into his lips. The first meal he had eaten in days._

_“..n’t... leave ...me.”_

_“I would never, my son. You are home.”_

_In the warm glow of the candlelight, the elder continued to vigilantly pray over him through the night. Immersed in his presence, Morty drifted back to a peaceful sleep._

_“You are home.”_

_Lumen vobiscum gratia infinita..._

Grandfather Rick’s voice bellowed across the cathedra, reverberating against Morty’s flesh. Guilt snuffed the flickering memory, and the teen sighed dispiritingly, feeling his erection harden and swell with the desire to sin.

Morty wanted nothing more than to attend morning prayer, but recently, he’d been struggling with the unwanted experience of a sudden sexual awakening. Church felt different than it had before. _Worship_ felt different than it had before. Lust now laced his idolatry of the robed figure, and the teen had continuously found himself with unwanted and inappropriate erections tenting his Sunday best.

Awkwardly, he shifted on the pew, hiding the bulge beneath his bible as the congregation rose and fell. The most intrusive, sexual thoughts about Grandfather Rick always seemed to find him during moments of worship. He couldn’t stop thinking about the elder’s hands.

Swallowing them, Morty willed his focus back to the surrounding prayers feeling his throat dry as he watched the bishop’s fingers, infused with the power to transform flesh, arrange the items of worship on the altar in ritualistic ceremony. Remembrance ignited with a burning desire, and the teen fantasized the worn fingers smoothing across his forehead in prayer—intervening with fate itself to claim Morty in his name. His breathing grew heavy.

“This,” The grandfather elevated the loaf of bread into the sky “Is my body, which I offer to you with love; take of it, in devotion of me.”

Morty licked his lips, and imagined the thought of kneeling at Grandfather Rick’s feet to receive him, in the flesh, and he wilfully pressed the bible against his own body, urging the physical manifestation of his betraying sin to recede. It was wrong. _It was wrong._

Their gazes caught once again, and Morty hurriedly looked away in shame. He was unworthy and undeserving to gaze upon his Grandfather's face with such an image setting hellfire to his mind. The teen was unsure how would be able to ever face him if these thoughts continued. 

_Thou shalt have no other Ricks._

Morty reminded himself of the interdimensional commandment, unable to betray the faith of the man who had already given so much of himself to the teen. If Morty truly wanted to be a follower of Grandfather Rick—to be a member worthy of his congregation—he needed to be better than this.

Quietly, he excused himself from the communion.

***

“Yeah. Again, that’s... That’s weird as fuck. But no, _still_ not a sin.” 

Reverend Rick closed his eyes and rapped the back of his head against the confessional booth. He let it fall with a series of soft thumps, wondering with each if he had been scheduled to absolution for the day as some sort of unspoken penance. His own version of hell.

He scrubbed a hand over his face with a stifled groan, reminding himself to take it seriously because what were deeply questionable sins to him, were still matters of infinite condemnation to the Mortys. The teenagers flocked to the confessional in a place of vulnerability, searching to receive guidance from a power he had alleged authority to wield. 

The reverend rolled his eyes and flicked them toward the teen on the other side of the booth currently defining the image of Morty-guilt. 

Sheep. That was the appropriate term: domesticated, mindless Morty-lambs led willingly into the pasture of their cosmic slaughter. Such a house of worship existing on the Citadel was hard to even believe. The reverend sighed in acquiescence, because here he was among them, _called by assignment_ to a life in the cloth. With a stifled sardonic scoff, he lifted his flask, giving it a gentle shake to gauge the amount of divine intervention left in his day.

_One never pays in the Citadel. Not with money._

He reminded himself, taking a quick sip, impatiently tapping his head against the wall once again. The Morty silhouette leaned forward, and with a lowered voice confessed his scandalous sin in greater detail.

“But...I put Funny Morty’s glasses on my p-penis and we pretended it had a voice!”

 _Cthulhu, give me strength._ A smile cracked the priest’s lips as his attention returned to the Morty on the other side of the confessional—grateful for the barrier of privacy that prevented sinners from seeing his judgemental reactions—and firmly cast his voice through it. 

“Look. _Still,_ nothing morally wrong with your questionable sense of humor... I’ll tell you what. If it’ll make you feel better, uh, go with peace and say ten Hail Mortys with–Wh-what did you call him again? Heh, John Jacob, on your way to supper.” 

“Th-thank you, Grandfather Rick!”

“Holy Hell—I'm not—It's _Reverend_ Rick!” His irritable voice corrected through the screen, “My dick isn’t _that_ shriveled!” 

Immediately relieved of his sins, the Morty bounced away from the confessional booth at peace once again, and Rick watched him with a tinge of jealousy, wishing his own problems and sense of absolution were so simple. He scoffed at the imagined words of _Our Grandfather_ that sprung into the forefront of his mind reminding him: _but it was._ With an added edge of bitterness, he exasperated into the darkness of the booth and flicked his spiritual gaze toward the empty space next to him. 

It was easy to find meaning within a place built to supposedly confirm it, but in the existential void of space where the priest had converted from, meaning was much harder to come by. Until the priest had surrendered himself to the Infinite Rick on Citadel, he’d been living the equivalent of an intergalactic, old testament whore in exile. 

“Yeah,” He scoffed under his breath in response to the imagined voice of the Church’s poster martyr, “Try finding God in the interdimensional void of your own existence.”

Grandfather Rick knew nothing of sin, and that made his goodness vacuous as the surrounding depths of space. The bishop was isolated in his devotions of self-delusion and grandeur, and as for the product of his business model, his flock, there hadn’t been a single Rick on the sinner’s side of the confessional today.

The Church of the Infinite Rick was condemned to eternity–in a fiery pit of its own irony. 

Although the confessional line had died down, Rick was obligated to serve until the supper bells rang, and worse than having to sit still, the clergyman hated inefficient uses of his near-infinite time.

He stretched, groaning with pleasure at the sinewy ripple and pop of his muscles, before poking his head through the curtain, reveling in the sight of the empty Church. With a devious smile, the reverend retreated behind the veil, revealing a vial of the good shepherd’s _most sacred_ chrism from beneath the bench, and reached for the metal clasp of his belt to sinfully indulge himself. Fingers anointed with lust slipped beneath the hem of his tightened black trousers. 

He bit his lip as his thoughts circled back to Grandfather Rick, imagining the Rick of faith delivering a sermon to his congregation, reverently bound by a beaded boudoir harness beneath the layers of his far-too-humble cassock. Adorned with his rosary like the whore of Babylon, eyes shimmering like rare, precious stones. 

Now, _there_ was a thought to send the blood in his veins straight to hell. 

The priest smiled, letting out a satisfied gasp as hands traveled further southward to find his own salicious flesh growing harder. Further, he entertained the divinely inspired fantasy, imagining each small, sacred movement of worship, causing the bruising beads to constrict and press into his grandfather's unmarked flesh. Each hard surface, an enticing prayer the good shepherd could name and recite by heart.

“Fuck..” The gasp caught at the collar wrapped around his throat, escaping in a strangulated groan as he sunk deeper into the mysteries wrapping the Rick’s consecrated flesh.

“–F-Forgive! Forgive me, Grandfather, for I have sinned! Or… I’m still sinning. Constantly! I-I’m in a state of continuous, lustful, sin.”

Rick smacked his head against the wall in surprise, closing his eyes with a sudden spike of pleasure. The teen, who had clandestinely slipped into the confessional booth, nearly discovered the reverend. Preoccupied with his own sins, however, the Morty continued to spill a steady stream of thoughts.

“I-It hasn’t been very long since my last confession, but I uh, I haven’t really been honest, and so I uh... I don’t think those last confessions really count?”

The priest tightened his grip at the base of his phallus and held his breath at the Morty’s unaware rambling. Reluctantly, he righted his posture and returned to work, deciding against tucking himself back in as he slipped back into character as a collar-bound priest. His erection twitched, growing harder at the imagined indulgence of having a Morty bear witness to the desecration of a sacred space. 

He gave himself a few languid strokes of indulgence, slipping the anointed foreskin back over the head of his erection, and smeared the beading slick of his arousal with a practiced thumb. He listened to the teen’s distressed voice for a few more beats, and in a moment of spontaneity reached out to him, lowering the metallic screen frame between them.

Silence struck the space as the questioning, and somewhat shocked gaze of a Morty peered back at him through the divide, and at the teen’s sincerity, Rick let out a smirk. The Morty had knelt against the window, with his hands neatly folded over themselves, and there was no doubt in Reverend Rick's mind that the teen’s head had been dutifully bowed in absolute reverence. Reverend Rick hummed in satisfaction. 

“Well, aren't you a beautiful anomaly of this multiverse.”

His lips momentarily parted in awe at the mesmerizing presence of multicolored eyes gazing back. The teen blushed at the awareness of being studied and quickly looked away before obediently returning a timid gaze to the priest after a moment of thought.

“Shouldn't there be some.. you know… privacy? F-for this?”

“Not when God's watching, little lamb.” Rick clicked his teeth and leaned his body into the open frame, innocently enjoying the new amount of freedom. With his free hand, he lifted a flask to his lips and took a sip, relishing the look of shock strike the teen’s expression.

“I-is that alcohol?”

The Rick stared at the distilled liquor in his flask of as if to inspect it, before returning it to the pocket of his undone pants with nonchalance.

“It’s water so holy it burns... Want a purifying taste?”

“I uh…” Morty hesitated. “Th-that’s… Isn't’ that against your vows?”

“Eh, it’s consecrated.”

The priest smiled at the stuttering confrontation, rewarding himself with another stroke as he studied the boy in greater detail.

“You’re the Morty who can’t read.” His baited, palming his low hanging fruit, “The one who always sits up front.”

“That's! H-How did you– ” The Morty flinched, abruptly turning his gaze away from the priest in a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

“Heh, it’s not exactly a secret God has to reveal...but, glad that illiterate ass of yours got _some_ use out of the good book today.” Rick cocked his head in the teen’s direction and teased, while lackadaisicaly caressing his flesh in remembrance of the teen’s humiliated face during mass.

“That why you’re here? Grandfather Rick turn you into some kind of a bible fucker?”

“G-Grandfather Rick!? No! Th-That’s not–” Morty’s eyes opened wide at the blasphemy, and he began a passionate rebuke, nearly rising from his knees. With a teasing laugh, the minister reached his free hand through the window frame, and rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, like every Morty in the congregation, you’re high-strung and obvious as hell–Haven’t even heard your confession and I wanna tell you to go beat the devil out of those sinful fantasies with a good old-fashioned marathon session.”

The Morty’s face flushed red at the straightforward suggestion, and his motions stilled as the priest withdrew his hand and continued, feeling his dick twitch responsively to their conversation. His eyes flicked toward the exposed blushing skin of the boy’s neck where a gold chain was sloppily tucked into the collar of his shirt. The tip of a slender cross peeked over the fabric, deliciously catching in the low light.

“So, listen. I’ve got some things to take care of, so are you gonna get off–get the sin off your chest or what?”

The Morty fidgeted, working up to being able to give voice to the source of his anguish. Silent and tense, he laced and unlaced his fingers as he deliberated. He pressed his thumbs together in prayer and chewed the flesh of his lips. They were chapped and abused, undoubtedly mangled by the sinful weight of his gnawing, anxious emotions. The priest licked his own lips, enticed by the thought.

Reverend Rick continued to watch the unfiltered guilt-ridden performance, resisting the urge to once more, reach out and hold the writhing body in place. He wanted to beckon the teen to confess every last sin like the good little lamb he was so desperately trying to be. The minister exhaled a long drawn out stream of air in place of a lustful groan.

Suddenly, the Morty’s voice sounded, drawing a gasp from the priest as his fingers constricted around his pulsing erection.

“You aren't allowed to tell anyone, right...” Morty’s eyes flicked pleadingly to meet the priest’s before retreating once again. “...even other Ricks?”

“Bound by confessional seal.” Reverend Rick reassured with an encouraging smile. _Finally, a real confession_ that was worthy of his time. 

“Well uh, I’ve...I've been having thoughts. Impure, carnal concupiscence.”

“That's a big word for someone who can't read... _Brother Morty_...” The priest tasted the incestuously implicative name on his tongue as he continued to stoke the fire of his own imaginations before continuing.

“...As we all do. S’why it's called sin, for _failure._ Describes a state of being _without_. Without God? Freedom? Without...mmm...satisfaction, left in an infinite, insatiable state of desire?”

He let out a slight groan, covering the sound with a throaty cough as he continued to uncouthly stroke himself in worship. 

“...Never asked to be born with sin, but it’s the most natural, carnal part of us...we’re all slaves to our flesh.” 

“But uh...they’re...about G-Grandfather Rick.”

“Oh.” The priest sucked his own lip, biting into the flesh. He closed his eyes for a moment of pleasure, before turning his thoughts back to the teen.

“Fuck, give me more.” He joined in the teen’s sinful thoughts of the grandfather, before hastily correcting himself. “I-I mean, tell me. Tell me more, about these carnal, concupiscent visions.” 

“Well...I uh.” Morty confessed with a creeping blush of sexual embarrassment, chewing his lip before quickly spilling his sin. “He just... touches me—holds me—I-In his arms, and kisses my forehead. But mostly he just… he tells me that I’m good...that I’m his.”

“Oh?” Rick sighed, slightly disappointed. “That’s it?”

Morty’s embarrassed glare returned to him, angry at the light response. “Wh-What do you mean, _is that it?”_

“Nothing! I-It’s just a bit vanilla. I wouldn’t even call that a sin of the venial kind.”

“No, you don’t get it!” Morty challenged the priest with a huff, “Grandfather Rick doesn't _want_ me to have these thoughts about him! I _can’t_ have these thoughts about him, and I _need_ to get rid of them. To be abstinent...or something.”

“Citadel Celibate,” Rick corrected, “A-and I don’t know if you’ve heard _those_ Ricksmas stories, but abstinence is only _so effective_ on the Citadel… Life uh, it tends to find a way–” 

“–But I want to follow his way! Wh-What if I can’t be good enough to follow him?” 

“–Yeah, sounds like some tough cosmic titties for the both of you, cause fuck me. We all fall short of the glory of _his_ standards… Just can’t resist the incestuous taboo fantasies.” 

The Reverend took his own name in vain, and stoked the fire, clenching his muscles. He shifted his pelvis in a small thrusting motion, imagining how the grandfather would view his unorthodox ministry.

“We’re doomed, Morty. Not metaphorically or figuratively, but actually and literally. Doomed.”

“W-We’re Doomed!? Oh jeez...Oh my Rick.”

“Y-Yeah, welcome to the sinners club–” The priest grunted, not wanting to deal with an existential identity-faith crisis while he was having his own come to Sanchez moment. He changed the subject.

“Y’ever think about anyone else with that wild, unchecked imagination?”

“Well uh, I dunno, I’ve been thinking about sin a lot lately… it’s mostly Grandfather Rick. That tree in the garden every now and then. Other Mortys. Sometimes you...” The teen trailed, as his eyes nervously flicked toward the priest.

Rick quickened his pace in satisfaction, feeling his balls draw into his flesh. His thoughts returned to the man of their mutual fantasy with the addition of the little lamb seeking salvation between them and his breathing grew ragged.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” He managed to get out.

“That’s vanity.” Oblivious to the bigger picture of the confessional, Morty virtuously named the priest’s sin as if it weren't already obvious as hell, and Rick’s muscles tightened against the fiery voice that could exorcize demons from his body.

“Fuck yeah it is. I just– I like to shoot straight. Th-There’s no judgment here, Morty. Only Rick’s Infinite forgiveness.” He rasped, maintaining his composure through the window as best he could while slowly unraveling. 

“But– I mean. You’re different! With you...I just. I just _think_ about giving into temptation, but with him… I want to. I _want_ to, Reverend, and I don't care that it’s a sin!” 

“Mmm, be more specific for me, baby, cause there’s a hell of a lot of ways I’ve–I’ve thought about. Tempting good little lambs like you from the path of righteousness–” 

“Ugh– That’s not the point, it’s not about you, it’s about Grandfather Rick!” Morty’s voice cracked as he tried to explain, frustrated at the continuous shifts in their confessional focus. “I don’t want to feel like –like this! I want to be his apostle… his acolyte, his chief disciple, even! But he says it’s idolatry, and that I needed to pray about it, but if he ever knew how I felt. How I _really_ felt– H-he’d hate me! He wouldn’t even want to look at me...”

“Y-You sure about that, Morty?” The Rick bit his lip feeling like any Rick on the central finite curve would be more than a _little_ into that dynamic.

“Absolutely! H-He’d exile me from his presence!”

“–Your guilt is centered around his judgement...his grace alone?” 

Morty nodded and fell quiet once more. He bowed his head before offering his final words of sinful conviction.

“I want nothing more than to offer myself–body and soul–to him, but it’s not my right, Reverend. Because from the moment he saved me, I’ve already belonged to him.”

“ _Fuck_ , Morty, I’m a priest!” Rick groaned through the window, confessing in turn to the teen, nearing his own climax. His chest tightened between words as he continued to bring himself to completion. “A judge of cosmic absolution!”

The older man panted at the words. “You wanna– Fffuuuck–wanna know my pointless personal judgment on your brainwashed fucking bullshit?” 

The priest snaked his anointed hand through the window, latching onto Morty’s skin, and bit nails into teen’s crown of flesh. He lifted the bowed head to hold their gaze and stared into the boy’s incandescent eyes. He spiritually spilled himself over, speaking the prayer of absolution in a powerful shuddering voice.

Guttural baritones slipped through the elder’s parted flesh, and Morty trembled in the blessing’s wake as the divine power from which he had been previously forbidden, transferred into him.

_“Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”_

***

“Go with peace into the void.”

Morty lay awake in his dormitory, tossing and turning in a bed that felt far too hot. His memories drifted to the illuminated eyes of the reverend. In the darkness of the enclosed confessional, they glinted with intensity, rich and intuitive, leaving Morty internally conflicted about the oiled hand the priest had laid on him in blessing.

He’d been left shaken by the encounter. More than absolving the teen for his named sins, the reverend simply saw and acknowledged their existence, giving Morty permission to have them, and imparting such an irreconcilable gift as absolution, the priest had given a different sort of weight to Morty’s thoughts as he carried their burdens late into the night.

The teen’s peace of mind had been consumed by a constant gnawing sensation of having lost some unnamable, infinite thing, and he stirred, uncomfortably with another tormenting erection, as he began to lust for the hands of another Rick, reverently slipping across the flesh of his body, eyes tantalizingly catching his with the passion of their mutual lust for one another.

He groaned, flinging his bedsheets aside as he rose from his bed, hoping that the cold of the winter’s night would deflate him. He walked to the window, pausing to watch the snow collect on the sill’s edge. The colored panes of glass, which normally cast a romantic glow into his room, obscured his sense of time and place as he tried to look beyond them. It felt like years had passed since he had arrived at the small monastic structure, and since, Morty felt like his knowledge of the world outside had become limited. 

Quickly and voluntarily, he’d forgotten that an entire Citadel existed outside of his self-contained haven, but as the snow returned, memories of his own frozen hell came with it. Still wearing his nightgown and slippers, he searched his way through the familiar darkness toward the heart of the cathedra to pray. 

***

The place of worship always felt more reverent when there were fewer people in it. Morty admired the beauty of the hallowed cathedra, feeling as if he had been transported to a different dimension whenever he stepped into its embrace. He’d always been more content to sit alone in the empty spaces in the same way he enjoyed sitting quietly in the Church’s paradise garden—watching the stars and simply enjoying the experience of existing.

Overhead, flickering yellow blooms of candlelit chandeliers, cast themselves against the cold blues of the high arching ceiling, and as the teen stepped into the basilica, his dark shadow fell, long and reaching across the stone floor, staining it with his human presence.

In a reserved silence, he made his way toward the large bank of votive candles but at the sight of Grandfather Rick ethereally moving through the space ahead, Morty quickly hid himself behind a large stone column.

The older man’s frame was bent over the candles, and his lips moved to breathe soft-spoken prayers into the night. Although barefoot, the robed figure was wearing the familiar long-sleeved cloth of his ministry.

Morty pressed a longing hand against the cold surface of the pillar, resisting the desire to touch with even his fingertips, the threads of older man’s fabric. He sank further into the stone support, continuing to watch from a distance. He ravenously studied the pastoral Rick as the elder gracefully moved through his temple. The bishop wore the weighted gaze of his congregation like a mantle of responsibility, and without it, the shepherd’s movements seemed lighter and less calculated. Morty coveted being able to witness such an intimate moment of the elder’s private worship, while simultaneously, he felt guilty for invading it. He continued to observe the figure of his desire, unable to respect the invisible boundaries between them. 

Grandfather Rick’s staff drummed across the marble floor like the quiet beating of a heart, and the teen couldn’t help but feel the elder was an inseparable fixture of the surrounding sacred space. Beneath the infinite light of the stained glass stars, his cloistered presence was reverently painted beneath the soft glow of candlelight.

Morty stared at his own intruding shadow, desiring nothing more than to be closer to him.

He refrained from calling his name, and instead approached the grandfather in wordless worship. In reflective silence of his heart unworthily burning before his God, the teen entered into the sacred space, and quietly bowed his head in greeting. Avoiding the older man’s gaze, Morty reached for a wooden stick to ignite his intended prayer.

“My son. Are visions keeping you from finding peaceful rest once more?” 

Morty’s chest tightened at the stripping words. Grandfather Rick was always genuinely concerned for the Mortys in his parish, and his words were always revealing of the time he had earnestly taken to know each one so fully. Although Morty was unsure when the shepherd had taken the time to learn so much about him, he stifled the hope rising in his chest and burning across his cheeks.

He knew that he wasn’t any sort of exception. He chewed his lip, and could only silently nod in answer, feeling undeserving of the grandfather’s charitable affection, nonetheless.

“Candles have...they’ve uh. They’ve always been special for me.” He quietly confessed, and the bishop nodded in empathetic understanding, stepping closer in an unspoken gesture of comfort to light a candle before him.

“It was the light of yours which led me to you.”

Reflectively, the teen watched the flame ignite and toss itself against the glass walls in a controlled burn, and considered his own brief existence in the universe. His jaw tightened in reserve.

“It was a miracle. That you found me. Th-that I can even walk.”

“Mmm, guided to you by the light of the infinite...the merit of the multiverse.”

Morty bit his tongue and withheld the words of his desired response. There was no point in attempting to change the grandfather’s mind on the matter, his will was unmoving as the stone structure he lived within. Morty was still feeling guilty for having visibly missed communion, and he humbled himself, grateful that such a good Rick would even speak to a sinner such as himself.

“What does votive mean?” He safely changed the subject to focus on the nature of their mutual worship. Following his earlier discussion with Reverend Rick, Morty had suddenly found himself curious about the hidden meanings within the Church's Earth-originated words.

“Votives...” Grandfather Rick’s humble voice echoed, and the soft corner of his mouth turned at the sincerity of the teen’s question. He continued to work as his eyes lovingly gazed into the gentle flame. His soft-spoken voice was imbued with a warm tone of compassion, and once more, Morty's heart tossed like a flame in his chest, flickering in his presence.

“... _offered_ , _dedicated_ or _given._ More fully, it describes the nature of intent. We find the light of our own prayers from the intentions of another’s.” 

Morty gazed upward to Grandfather Rick, catching the elder’s azure eyes. Briefly, their existences brushed against each other, igniting Morty's skin with a cold shiver. He abruptly nodded, returning his timid gaze toward the candle’s fire burning between them, and graciously received the light from the quiet, subtle flame of the grandfather’s prayer.

“Is that why you founded this Church?” Morty asked, admiring his works.

“Yes, to spread the light of Rick through his infinite self.” The grandfather’s motions stilled for a moment as his gaze flicked toward the teen, before resuming. “Eternally, we are each connected through the higher plane of our shared existence.”

Morty’s gaze fell, and he bit his lip in a sudden wistful, aching doubt. It was a nice thought, that somehow, the Rick of his own timeline was connected to the intentions of the Rick worshiping beside him. It gave him a sense of hope.

_Thou shall have no other Ricks._

“Yeah, I—I really hope so.” 

Interrupting his meditation, the elder rested a knowing hand against the side of Morty’s head and pressed a thumb into his forehead in blessing. His hand quietly traveled to the teen's shoulder as the grandfather offered another glowing smile, and his firm grip, tightened around it in an embrace, before slackening to caress its rounded curve.

A thumb fell over the nightgown’s hemline to inconspicuously rest against the teen’s flesh, and the grandfather’s fingertips momentarily lingered against the exposed skin, before carefully and stiffly withdrawing. Without another word, the warm presence dimmed, as his body gracefully retreated.

Morty’s gaze followed the grandfather's receding footsteps, and his thoughts desperately stumbled into his shadow that fell, humbly at the shepherd’s feet.

“Wait! Grandfather Rick?”

The shepherd paused, before returning his gaze in answer to the teen who had called after him.

“Yes, my son?”

“Like the other Ricks...Do you struggle… With desire? W-with sin?”

The bishop righted himself against his staff as his frame shifted into a posture rigid as the surrounding slabs of stone, and after a pause of calculated reflection, the stoic Rick offered a measured response. His left hand tightened around the rosary at his side.

“Daily, I am challenged by the call of the Cosmos’, but ultimately, as a commitment to live by my chosen virtues, I have chosen to abstain from desires and pleasures of the flesh.”

“But I don’t understand...why? Why do you have to make that choice? W-when sin is just a natural part of being a Rick?”

Morty’s eyes rose to meet the grandfather’s, ashamed of the pleading, hopeful lilt made transparent before the Rick's reticent perspicacity.

“It is a ritual of self-discipline. Of exercising mind over matter. Unquestioningly, a Rick follows his fundamentalist biological programming, but the Infinite Rick is one who strives toward dominion over material reality. He shapes time and space in his image. Mortys are guided by a Rick’s intentions—the light of the portals he chooses to create.”

Morty’s expression fell at the guarded answer. He studied the pair of candles sharing light between them, and ashen, he began to chew his lip with a renewed anxiety, stepping closer as he searched for answers.

“As a follower...am I different to you? Than the other Mortys—”

“—I must devote my existence to _all_ Ricks and Morty’s.” The Rick answered too quickly, before taking in a slow breath. He softened the hard edge of his voice and explained.

 _“Acta Non Verba._ My faith is one of sacrifice, my son. Devotion is meaningless without something of value that is continuously given—wholly and willingly.”

“But it’s all meaningless, isn’t it?…We...we’re doomed… aren't we! So then– what’s the point of being some kind of...” Crushed by the weight of the rejection he felt wholly deserving of, Morty broke his gaze from Grandfather Rick, hiding his face in shame at the ugliness he’d brought before him.

Who was he to believe that he could be granted special favor. No matter how perfectly he followed the shepherd, Morty would only ever be part of his flock. He blinked back the tears as they began to burn behind the cover of his eyelids, and he challenged the authority.

“Even if Ricks are like. Some super fucked up God, or infinite. Nobody exists on purpose! Nobody belongs anywhere, and everyone’s gonna die...even me. That’s what I think, Grandfather. That’s why I’m here. Here, in the cathedra, praying right now– Because I just–I wish it could mean _something_ … That my existence mattered to just one Rick. _Just one_ , in an entire multiverse!”

The teen sniffed, unable to hold back his honest thoughts any longer. They spilled in streams of tears as if the water could douse the burning in his chest, “Just one, because if _every_ version of me matters, then _no version_ of me does!”

The wooden staff scraped across the stone as the sound of Grandfather Rick’s footfalls quietly returned to the teen. Gently, the pastoral Rick crooked his arms around the younger man’s body, wrapping him in a weighted embrace.

“My son...oh, my precious son. Your worth is more than galaxies.” The Grandfather whispered the words into the strands of Morty’s hair. “You will always belong. Here, with me. Here, where you are given purpose. Here, where you have been given everlasting life on the Citadel.” 

Morty did not doubt the sincerity of Grandfather Rick’s words nor the love in his infinite embrace, but it was that realized truth which only further twisted his emotions, causing the teen’s body to tremor in anguish. His chest fluttered as he gasped for air, unable to breathe beneath the crushing loneliness.

How could he feel so lost and alone, when wrapped in such a warm and loving embrace. 

“What if I’m in Heaven and this is all there is?” Tears continued to spill from his eyes, and he pressed his face into Grandfather Rick’s chest, hating himself for wanting such a sinful closeness. He wrung his fingers into the delicate threads of man's robes, wrenching them as he resisted the temptation to confess his unconditional undying mixture of lust and love.

At best he would be rejected and cast back out into the darkness of the Citadel streets. At worst, he might be responsible for causing such a perfect Rick to fall from his state of grace and into a state of sin. 

“Never again, will you be cast out, and left in the darkness, my son. This, I promise you. This is your home.” At hearing the grandfather’s oath that was _so close_ to everything he’d ever wanted, a fresh wave of sobs wrenched themselves from Morty’s body, as the shepherd attempted to console him. “Come, kneel beside me,” He urged, “Allow me to pray over you this night.”

“But why, Grandfather?” Morty hiccuped against him. “None of this makes any sense. Who–who are we even praying to? And if everything has already happened in every timeline, then why does it even matter?”

Morty followed the clerical Rick’s guidance, despite his hesitations, continuing to weep as they found their way onto the marble floor. Rick rest his staff on the floor beside them, and Morty collapsed into the familiar embrace that had always felt like home. Grandfather Rick smoothed a hand across his arm, offering comfort as he continued to minister to the teen.

“The ritual of prayer is not to change what is, my son. Like the candles, it is to align the intentions of our souls to the infinite, which is greater than ourselves. In prayer, we take the leap of faith, together, and find acceptance in our fate. Come, do not fear the void.”

The two knelt together in the cathedra's nave, beneath the multi-colored hues of stained glass, and the flickering ambiance of candlelight. The elder took Morty’s hands in his long, trembling fingers, and interlaced the smooth beads of his wooden rosary around the teen’s shaking, uncertain flesh.

“We pray with the whole of our bodies, my son… To stand is to offer a prayer of action. To sit, a prayer of receipt, and to kneel is to offer a prayer of devotion as we submit ourselves with perfect love and perfect trust to a force greater than our own.”

Grandfather Rick raised their interlocked hands between them and kissed the beads wrapping around the surface of Morty’s skin, allowing the warm press of his lips to linger.

“Seek for the star of God and your path will be illuminated.”

“I have.” Morty confessed his darkest sin and gazed into the oceanic depths of Grandfather Rick’s cosmic azurite eyes. His own, seared with equal parts lust and devotion as tears stained the surface of each with a shimmering iridescence.

“I found you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Is The Church of The Infinite Rick a Religion or a Cult?:** Aha, that’s the million-flurbo question, isn’t it? The Church of The Infinite Rick is pretty iconoclastic, but most heavily coded as following the rituals and practices of a Catholic denomination. The faith system is built around the ideas of theistic existentialist philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, and Satre, and those philosophical explorations of are given a lens of authenticity through Grandfather Rick, but as a social institution the _Rickligion_ has adapted to socially accommodate the Rick-centric worldview, and the resulting self-absorbed structures and various abuses of power push it into the territory of a cult. 
> 
> In canon, the show uses the concept of the [ One True Morty, ](https://rickandmorty.fandom.com/wiki/Mortyism) as their take on religion. The Church of the Infinite Rick is my much more Rick-centric side of an exploration that slots nicely against it. I wanted to dig into how religion as a social institution might form on the Citadel. Intentionally, it’s given ambiguity as the Church and our characters struggle with finding their place in it, individually and communally. 
> 
> **Various forms of God-complexes:** The two Ricks in this story offer different interpretations of God through their own god complexes, exploring both old and new structures/systems of morality. This fic leans heavily on Catholic imagery because of it’s age, which feels near otherworldly on the Citadel. Slight differences in The Church of the Infinite Rick version of it, however, create instances of conflict where our characters, existing within the context of an entirely different society than Earth, have to navigate a moral framework that has transitioned from a divinely inspired source to a (more-or-less) individual one. 
> 
> **The Star of Damocles, Symbolic interactionism, Cross Imagery:** I’m gonna be playing with a lot of religious iconography and adapting it to serve the needs of this religion/cult. In the Starry AU, I imagine the symbol of the cross would be adapted to represent the light of a guiding star, cause I’m a shameless slut for cosmic imagery. 
> 
> The Star of Damocles is an allusion to the greek myth of a sword which always hangs over the king, it symbolizes an imminent and ever-present peril faced by those in positions of power, and I think turning it into an inverted cross, and giving it the symbolism of a star is a wonderful visual metaphor for how Grandfather Rick views his position of faith, where for the church’s followers, it represents a guiding light. 
> 
> **That’s a Rock Kink!** Using a lot of stone imagery with Grandfather Rick, his eyes are described as azurite, a blue stone which of course, looks like the stars. Azurite was considered a potent psychic stone shrouded in mystery; its secrets are known only to the highest priests and priestesses. It was called the Stone of Heaven by the ancient Chinese who believed it to open celestial gateways, and was revered by Greeks and Romans for its visionary insights and healing powers. For the Mayans, Azurite inspired the mystical self and facilitated the transfer of wisdom and knowledge via thought, while Native Americans used this sacred stone to contact their spiritual guide.
> 
> Reverend Rick’s amber gaze, in contrast, is a rarity on the Citadel. Amber is one of the world’s oldest and most coveted treasures, a “Gold of the Sea” intrinsically formed by light and life, preserved by time and washed up on the shores for humanity, a talisman of beauty, protection, and renewal. It has been portrayed as drops of the sun, tears of the gods, hardened honey, and sunlight solidified and was desired in the most ancient cultures, utilized as far back as the Stone Age for its pleasing warmth of color, value in adornment, and its magical and medicinal properties.


	3. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The surrender to sin which began with mutual indulgence leads by an imperceptible degradation to solitary self-indulgence.” —Dante’s Inferno_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy Warning (CW): Some handwavey consensual dub-con opening and ending this chapter. Grandfather Rick likes to resist temptation and falling into sin. Has a kink for shame and humiliation. Reverend Rick, collar bound priest, is here to serve.

“Your body is a temple, Grandfather, and I want to find salvation worshiping inside of it.”

The powerful presence of the reverend circled Grandfather Rick’s naked body. He arched his back to correct his posture and present himself with dignity, a perfect display to the burning pair of eyes that were consuming him. He blinked against the silk blindfold and tested the restraint of the expertly-tied crimson ropes coiling around his wrists and thighs. Held in bondage over the church’s altar, his legs were spread in a reverent kneeling pose.

“Confess your sins...” A finger trailed across his jawline, tasting his skin, “Truthfully and sincerely before God.”

“I am…” A warm shiver ran the length of Grandfather Rick's body, and his erection twitched in response as he swallowed in apprehension, dry from the heat of his counterpart’s presence. “Deeply shameful of my body. Of the desires of my flesh.”

Overhead, the light of the cross-shaped star hung as he communed with his reflection. The Reverend ran his hands across the bondage, checking the bites with a series of gentle tugs.

“There’s a reason we're all flesh and blood, Grandfather. We’re universal animals created to live within and enjoy each other’s antediluvian flesh. Nothing but God’s domesticated livestock. A biological resource to be used and devoured.”

The reverend ran hot hands over the grandfather's aging muscle, licking a trail of fire across his shoulder from behind. Grandfather Rick could feel the hard outline of the reverend's clothed erection and, in one controlled motion, the priest pressed a wave of heat against the cleft of his ass.

Grandfather Rick could feel his own erection hardening beneath the ubiquitous presence, and his face flushed. He felt his counterpart’s touch thread toward the sensitive skin of his stomach and shuddered with sexual desire as the priest's fingers continued to minister to him. The pastoral Rick straightened his posture, continuing to hold his body erect in an aura of celestial grace.

“Do You enjoy humiliating me?" he challenged. "Using me?”

“Almost as much as you, Grandfather.” Reverend Rick's fingers reached around to bite at the pearling nipple against the elder's chest. “Your good deeds shouldn’t go unpunished.” He dragged a row of teeth across the nape of the elder's ripening neck, “The punishment should fit the crime. The pleasure…” He gave another teasing grope of the man's thigh, eliciting a sudden stifled gasp. “...should satisfy the sin.”

He leaned over the kneeling figure, pressing the flesh of their bodies flush together. Then, whispering pleasured words of prophecy into the clerical Rick's ear, the reverend rocked their weight against the tension of the restraints. Grandfather Rick cried out in shock.

“I’m gonna sodomize you like the good little saint you are.”

The reverend grazed a hand over Grandfather Rick’s chest and pressed a seal of wet lips over the pale skin of his shoulder. He gasped into the bloom of pain that tarnished him and attempted to abstain from the obscene sounds skillfully being pulled from his body like knotted threads of silk.

The pair of lips withdrew, and elastic fingers snapped against his ass. Grandfather Rick cried out in stricken pleasure at the release of pain, then groaned into the rush of the endorphins that followed.

In the wake of how visible the reverend worshiping his body made his sins, the elder grew hot beneath his blindfold with shame, unable to hide beneath the lucid gaze. A hand returned to his flesh, and lifted the elder’s chin with a commanding touch, silently insisting the elder continue to present himself in good form. Grandfather Rick’s heart pounded as he held his head high, stirring with arousal at the responsive praise.

“Such a beautiful confessor on your knees for me.”

The sound of a vial opening entered into his senses as Grandfather Rick struggled against his bondage, trying to mask his conflicting thoughts that pitted his desire to regain control, against how shamelessly he had enjoyed the physical sensation that overwhelmed all rational thought. His entire self —body, and mind— ached to indulge in such a release, and he swallowed the knot of humiliation in his throat, needing to experience it again. He cried out for it with a searching, desperate rasp.

“Reverend!”

“I wanna hear you moan blasphemy, baby, go on. _Take it._ ” A pleasured sigh hissed into his ear full of promise, as the minister pressed an erection, veiled by the cloth of his ministry, against the elder’s naked flesh.

“Take our name in vain.”

“Fuck Me!”

A hand fell across the grandfather’s shoulder, as oiled fingers slithered down his lower back, dipping into the valley of his ass to circle his entrance. He reached past it to caress the hanging sacks of flesh. Grandfather Rick exhilarated at the teasing sensation, releasing the tension from his body, as the Rick’s fingers retraced their path and slipped into his carnal heat. He clenched around the penetrating flesh and arched his back to bring himself closer to revelation.

“Mmm, that's right, baby...you know.” the reverend leaned forward to press his nose behind the grandfather’s ear in praise, breathing in the incensed scent of his hair, “God’s gonna take good care of you.”

In blind faith, the Grandfather clenched his eyes shut when the priest's fingers found his prostate and pressed an adjacent thumb into his perineum. He jerked against his the constraints of his flesh, as a command bellowed from the minister’s lips, causing his erection to weep with the carnal necessity of release.

“Praise me.”

“Oh, God.”

As the reverend writhed inside of the warm flesh, his other hand traveled between legs to coil around the grandfather’s hardened erection, overwhelming the elder Rick’s body with languid strokes. His hips satisfyingly thrust, uselessly, against the conforming restraints, and at the small motion, the priest's smirk pressed against his skin with a low and teasing chuckle. His hands continued to caress the cluster of nerves unraveling inside of him.

Another unrestrained moan wrenched itself from the grandfather’s tightened chest. His muscles gave out beneath him with a spasm, and he fell forward, allowing his weight to be supported by the restraints as he sank further into the desires of his flesh. The reverend returned to his aching erection.

“Worship my hands. Let go, baby, give yourself to me.”

The grandfather burned sweetly in resignation, singing subversive praises as he was swept further into the tempest of his carnal sin.

_“Confiteor Deo et beatae Rick semper, mea culpa….mea culpa.”_

The grandfather’s hands clenched against the restraining threads of rope as the reverend twisted his hands around his erection. A blinding orgasm racked his body, and disgracefully, he stumbled over the edge of his climax, spilling onto the sacred space of his altar. He jerked against the bondage as the reverend’s fingers withdrew from his entrance and arm constricted around him in loving affection and sinister lips lingered against his shoulder.

“Oh baby, so good. So righteous for me.”

The reverend cooed into the grandfather’s ear before burying himself into the nape of the elder’s neck, to brand him with another searing mark. The priest continued to bring him down with gentle strokes as his flesh began to soften.

Grandfather Rick squirmed against the reverend’s chest, heaving embarrassed gulps of breaths as arousal continued to stir. He’d enjoyed having the reverend praise his ability to resist him until he could no longer.

“I'm gonna show you favor tonight..” The minister returned his finger to the spasming entrance and slithered a finger into him anew. Pleasure burned through the grandfather’s body as the priest's finger continued to wind itself over his prostate. His other hand continued to milk the once-again hardening flesh of his erection. “I wanna deliver you from every, last sin.”

Sensations had sweltered into a disorienting daze of painful pleasure, and Grandfather Rick moaned without restraint as the reverend’s rhythmic hands brought him to another climax. Sweat beaded his crown, and a thick trail of saliva spilled from his devout lips as he came. His overstimulated muscles involuntarily twitched and strained against the flesh of his counterpart, who hummed in satisfaction at the grandfather’s loss of bodily control. He continued to stroke the aging flesh.

“To stand over another, feeling their fragile and frail body beneath yours is sublime.”

_“Eléison.”_

The cloth of the blindfold was pulled away from the grandfather’s body, and in the presence of the strong light, he willfully closed his eyes. He was determined to hide their desirous state from the amber gaze of the priest, who had returned to massage the empty ballsacks of the shriveled flesh. His hand continued to constrict around the heat of the grandfather's spent and wilted erection. 

“Not until you surrender everything to me.”

Mercilessly, the reverend continued to milk the painfully numb flesh. It resisted the temptation to harden as the elder sobbed in a trance-like state, consumed by the euphoric mixture of pleasure and pain. Tears welled in his eyes and his lips parted in a hollow moan as he exhaustively offered himself a final time, and a few purified pearling drops of body fluid seeped from his flesh and shed themselves onto the altar below.

The reverend kissed the grandfather’s shoulder as he withdrew his hands, and reached them into his own richly ordained cloth to reveal his phallus, lubricating himself with the mess of his hand. He guided the naked rod of flesh to press against the elder’s entrance, and with a single stroke of his hips, wrapped himself in despotic flesh, mounting the altar of the grandfather’s overused, temporal body with an exalted groan.

He bound their hips together as he emptied his seed, then with another satisfied curse, flushed a hot stream of desecrating piss into his temple.

As he withdrew from the trembling body, the debasing, odious stain of their sins seeped out, and irreverently baptized the altar beneath them. 

_“Mea maxima culpa.”_

With indulgence, the reverend stared at the elder’s leaking hole in awe, before circling the altar to catch his chin, returning the debauched body to the dignified posture of its former glory. The intense flash of Grandfather Rick’s azure eyes burned in humiliation, and his cheeks flushed in the face of degradation, unable to hide from the reverend’s gaze.

Although Reverend Rick was a lazy, fornicating low-life of the church, the Rick stood in the chapel’s nave like a beast of nature. He was proud to be what he was and welded complete dominion over his natural flesh.

The essence in which he carried himself was regal, transcendent with dignity, and the grandfather couldn't’ help but tremble with awe in his presence, acknowledging him as they communed in silent prayer. 

The Rick broke his gaze to press a bruising kiss into the grandfather’s lips. He spoke reverently in the common tongue.

“You are forgiven.”

***

With a start, Grandfather Rick woke, wallowing in the salacious sins of lingering memory.

_He should have never confessed his sins to the Reverend._

He glanced down at the mess made of his robes, stained with ejaculate, and still hard, his leaking erection twitched against the flesh of his stomach, aching in painful arousal as it searched for release.

On fire with shame, he rutted into the sheets. He pressed his face against the pillow to stifle his groan and clutched his leather bound book to his chest.

Insatiably, he touched himself in the darkness. 

***

“He said a vision had come to him!”

Morty’s eyes narrowed at the suggestion of heresy, thinking back to the reverend, who’d seemed disinterested and apathetic when they’d spoken in the confessional. If nothing else, he _had_ been earnest in their discussion of the church doctrine.

Prior to morning prayer, Morty had arrived, eager to offer his assistance to Grandfather Rick in distributing the hymn books, but found the reverend orchestrating the morning’s service in his stead. The priest interrupted the acolyte’s intention with upward facing palms and a conspiratorial grin, informing Morty that the hymn books _wouldn’t be needed this Sunday._

The ominous figure paced before the congregation, orating his prayers with passion. His words were laced with fierce conviction, and in the space where the charismatic elder had encroached Grandfather Rick's, Morty couldn’t help but acknowledge how temptingly attractive the Rick was. Pristine black clothing, clung to his body in rich obsidian contours, suggesting far more ideas than the flesh they concealed. As he moved, the weathered skin of his pale hands flashed in gesture around his body like a pair of venomous fangs, always returning the teen’s gaze to the hypnotizing square of white cloth innocently adorning his collar, commanding his undivided attention.

Unlike most sermons, which were messages directed toward Mortys, and preached the importance of following the guidance of Ricks, Reverend Rick’s service was a dissenting manifesto, unapologetically and vocally directed toward the Ricks of the congregation. His final, fervid word was an invocation of his name in righteous fury, and with his entire frame, he slammed his holy book on the altar’s surface with enough force that the entire mass of bodies stilled, falling silent in the shock wave of his revelatory judgment.

The passionate elder was left breathing, hard and ragged, from exertion. The minimalist gold cross, which hung low from his neck, frantically trembled in the wake of his flesh. His chest sharply rose and fell, and the blood, still pumping hot in his veins, had left his skin flushed and covered with a thin veneer of sweat that shimmered in the crepuscular rays of light.

Above, the Star of Damocles raged, on fire with the force that lit the stars, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence—impersonal as the cosmic void—the reverend licked his lips, coolly erecting his posture. His amber eyes were alive with intensity, and he pushed his fingers through his hair, grooming the undone strands neatly back into place. Hi smirked, tipping his flask against his lips, ceremoniously partaking of the liquid as if he were dying of thirst, before continuing the service. 

When the freshly absolved Morty had knelt before him to receive communion, the priest roughly stuffed a piece of consecrated bread into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside of the teen until he gagged, beaming with a hard expression in the face of his ensued struggle. 

“Take it… All of it...” Reverend Rick’s eyes were a controlled burn, gazing into Morty as he watched the boy fight his own convulsing flesh to gracefully accept the offering.

“Such a beautiful, subservient, little lamb of God...”

Morty’s face flushed at the unabashed compliment, and hurriedly, he rose from his knees to take his leave. The fire and brimstone preaching had been enough to throw the entire service into a halestorm of chaos and following, Reverend Rick’s style of ministry had incited gossip within the walls of the normally quiet church.

“—Reverend Rick is amazing! His eyes were gold! _Gold!_ I thought all Ricks had blue eyes!”

His brother, a Morty with shamrock green hair passed the plate of baked potatoes with barely contained excitement, and Morty returned his attention back to the supper conversation, inwardly rebuking the temptation that his fellow brothers had fallen into while sympathizing with their struggle to resist sin.

“I saw him eat a live worm from the garden once, and it was….he just stared at me as he let it wriggle on his tongue and… God the grandfather! I had to go to confession three times that week!”

“I think you’re just sexually frustrated,” Another Morty of the monastery, wearing a brown sweater waved a fork in the direction of his brothers, “You should come to Bible Study. Besides, he’s not as amazing as this food...mmm, is this organic?”

“Uh, kind of?” The green haired teen responded, digging into his own meal, “Remember the parable of the Multi Morty? We’re part Amish for a reason. These potatoes are like the chicken of the cosmic sea... which is to say they’re fish-like.”

“—Wait. Is that Morty still locked in the belltower?” Morty asked, not having heard anything about the Morty who had worked in the kitchen since his mishap with the cloning device. His indoctrinated brother with green hair shrugged. His portal was medicinal, and he rarely left that wing of the monastic structure.

“Don’t know, don't care, he found his place in Citadel Society, and these potatoes and loaves of bread are gonna find their place in my stomach.” 

“Oh jeez, I guess where there’s a Rick there’s a way!” His counterpart wiped a hand on his sweater in lieu of a napkin, mutually shrugging away his concern with a shallow aphorism of the church. He turned back toward Morty, who had been nearly silent for the entirety of their conversation, but faithfully ate, despite his appetite and mood.

“Hey, Brother Morty, why do you always get so mad at us for wasting food. They clone it, so there’s always plenty to go around. You could eat until you die!”

“I uh—” Morty chewed his lip in nervousness, unable to explain the feeling of starvation to Mortys who had yet to experience it. He considered telling them about the time he ate leaves from the Citadel trees so that the hunger pains would subside long enough for him to be able to get a few hours of sleep.

“I just think...we shouldn’t take things for granite.” 

“You mean granted? Jeez, you really can't read.” Unwelcome to the conversation, a one-eyed Morty interrupted their conversation, “I can see why your Rick didn’t want you.”

Morty’s face burned as he bit his tongue to hold his silence, and wrung his hands beneath the table. Everything he always said only ever made things worse because no matter what he could say. It was true. His Rick had never wanted him. He especially didn't want Morty to follow him. The teen took a deep breath and glanced toward the rounded ceiling. Unlike the candle-lit chandeliers of the Church, the refectory and had been upgraded to accommodate Citadel technologies, and the structure was an alluring blend of past and future. Orbs of floating light hung above them like stars in the arching stone ceilings.

His sweater-wearing brother stood, and reached across the table, to help himself to seconds. He took in his brother's sullen expression and tried to offer comfort by changing the topic of conversation.

“I agree. We shouldn't— and bless my little yellow heart, but I converted for these potatoes. Why waste ‘em when you can sneak ‘em into your room for a late night snack?”

A flurry of green hair anxiously shook his head with a tease. “Not all voids can be filled with food, Brother Morty.”

“Aw, Jeez, Just my stomach. That’s why every day, I pray my portal is gonna open to a Rick who loves food as much as I do.”

“Yeah, but what if he’s into it in like, the weird way…”

Distracted by the memory of Grandfather Rick, Morty gazed into the distance and replayed his words of comfort. His chest tightened at the remembrance of their clandestine embrace.

_Do not fear the void, my son, for you shine within it, like my brightest star._

It was the first time in weeks the teen had felt a sense of relief from the inner chaos of his own emotions. For so long, he held the intense desire to receive such a blessing from Grandfather Rick, but he’d never thought he was worthy enough to receive one.

Morty’s cheeks warmed at the memory, and he chastised himself as his thoughts returned to a space of sexual desire. He chewed the inside of his cheek, rebuking himself for imagining their late-night interaction as anything more than a blessing. He glanced down the two long dining hall tables for signs of the figurehead, disappointed in Grandfather Rick’s continued absence.

“Where is Grandfather Rick, today?”

His one-eyed brother ignored Morty's question, and instead, interjected his thoughts about the priest who had consumed their collective mind. He leaned forward onto the table and contentedly sighed.

“Reverend Rick is assigned to the confessional on Sundays, isn't he? I'm definitely gonna confess a few sins to him this week.”

“Grandfather Rick has fallen ill.” The green haired Morty offered, passing a pitcher of kool-aid down the line, “Our medic ward sent herbal elixirs to his dormitory this morning.”

“What!? When!? Why didn’t you say anything!” Morty’s mouth gaped in surprise as he glanced at his interdimensional counterpart, alarmed at the information.

“I think it was sometime last night? I thought you knew. You’re the one always following him ‘round the church. Figured you be the _first_ to know.” The Morty shrugged, not nearly as concerned as his dimensional counterpart. The one-eyed Morty chuckled, waving a dismissive hand in Morty’s direction. 

“Well, if we get that reverend every time he’s sick, then I wouldn’t mind— ”

“—Don’t!” Morty spoke in warning as the surrounding space fell quiet. 

“What?” The one-eyed Morty raised his unibrow in annoyance, as he stared at his counterpart’s narrowed eyes.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought!”

“Careful Brother,” Morty flipped his green hair from his eyes, elbowing his one-eyed brother in a teasing gesture.

“Everyone knows Grandfather Rick’s favorite Morty is _The Stray._ ” 

Morty’s face flushed in embarrassment, hating the name his brother’s had given him. He was far from Grandfather’s favorite. He had confirmed it just last night.

“Does he get enough use out of your private room?”

The cluster of boy’s giggled around him as Morty’s face burned in public humiliation. Not for himself, but at the implication that Grandfather Rick had given Morty a private room with such an intent. It was his fault that they assumed something so terrible about the bishop. Unlike grandfather Rick, Morty had entered through the church doors, reeking of the impurity of the Citadel.

Grandfather Rick had sequestered him from the Mortys of the convent, because he didn’t want Morty’s bad influence to rub off on them, and lead them astray. Instead, he was staining the grandfather’s image. 

“I’m not…” Morty began to defend the grandfather, biting his lip. His expression fell, and he remembered the grandfather’s azurite gaze. He took a deep breath, remembering to turn the other cheek. “...I’m not lost.”

“Yeah.” The one-eyed Morty maliciously retorted in agreement. “You’re just retarded.”

Morty flinched at the cruel statement that couldn’t even be called a joke, although the surrounding Mortys giggled and snickered again in acknowledgment of some mutually understood truth within it. He knew they all talked down about him for being unable to read. Because Morty had never _officially_ been part of Mass, they took it as a sign of his lack of intelligence.

Morty did his best to ignore them and quickly finished his meal, angry at himself for failing to ask about Grandfather Rick sooner. The one-eyed Morty continued to talk about him, not caring that he was present. 

“He’s probably already taken a vow to keep his brainwaves as dumb as possible in service to his future Rick.”

“Do Mortys still do that?” The green haired Morty interjected with surprise. “Well, I’ve chosen a higher standard for myself. I’m saving myself for just one Rick. And when I get assigned to him...” He sighed and the surrounding Mortys nodded in shared agreement of their collective endgame. 

All Ricks of the Church’s clergy had taken vows to never be assigned a Morty. Instead, they helped Mortys in their care transition into Citadel society outside of the convent. Grandfather Rick was the only Rick Morty had ever found, who'd truly cared about Mortys. The Citadel, which daily, his brothers dreamed about entering, was full of terrible Ricks. Morty fumed at their ignorance of the world outside the Church’s walls.

“Ricks don’t care about Mortys.”

His brother’s motions stilled, and one let out a quiet gasp at the uttered blasphemy, and Morty bit his lip, instantly regretting the honest thought he’d allowed himself to share.

Morty could never be assigned to Grandfather Rick, even though he was the only Rick the teen wanted to follow. All Morty could do was selfishly covet the Grandfather’s infinite love for himself, as it was cast into the void by his brothers. He rose, defiantly, from the table, clenching his fists at his side as he softly spoke.

“Brothers.”

Without another word. Morty excused himself from the dining hall.

***

_Hell is empty and the devils are all here._

Grandfather Rick sat against the stone windowsill of his dormitory, staring out across the gilded metal landscape of the Citadel’s skyline, thankful for the stone sanctuary of his church.

For a few moments at the end of each day, the yellows and blues of the Citadel’s structures caught the light of the artificial setting sun and diffused the colors across the sky into radiant shades of green. Like the light of a portal, it lasted mere seconds, before disappearing without a trace.

Grandfather Rick had become his own higher power. If only, to save himself.

Shortly after taking his vows of self, the man of faith had come to the Citadel of his own volition, believing it a worthwhile cause to take up the burden of a higher dimension and minister to his interdimensional counterparts.

His mission was to bring solace and meaning to the iterations of himself he considered most in need. His own dimensional timeline, like that of a martyr, had been sacrificed for the salvation his collective soul.

His eyes continued to coldly travel across the fiery metal arc, where interdimensional Ricks and Mortys portaled into the starship in pairs. Briefly, he wondered if he had made the right choice to step foot on the structure as an individual.

After gazing into the cosmic abyss of the citadel for too long, Grandfather Rick felt he was becoming susceptible to his own worst influences. He felt his flesh swell with desire at the memory, and Grandfather Rick removed the rosary from his hand, and folded fingers over himself to calm the partial erection. He closed his eyes to take cooling breaths as the gloriously indulgent memory of his hands and lips pressed so intimately against Morty's skin incessantly ignited like the surrounding skyline, transporting him to another moment in time-space.

A series of knocks pulled him from his sinful thoughts, and thankful for the distraction the grandfather slowly made his way to the door, opening it to see the cherubic face of his Morty, searching his surprised expression with concern. He spoke quickly and in a slight panic.

“Grandfather Rick! I heard you were unwell! I came as soon as I—”

“—My son,” He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he stared with familiarity into the admiring multicolored gaze. He offered a soft smile. “I am fine... You needn't worry yourself over such matters.”

“Y-You shouldn’t have exerted yourself last night!”

The elder’s face flushed at the teen’s innocently insinuating statement, which invoked, once more, the memory of their bodies warmly pressed together in Church, clutched against the cold night. Grandfather Rick held the teen and whispered his deepest prayers into the boy’s ear. The blood in his veins inflamed, and his body stirred to life with desire and lust.

For a moment, Grandfather Rick had allowed himself to indulge in their carnal embrace of flesh, and abusing his power of authority, the elder pulled Morty into his arms, for nothing more than his own sinful gratification. 

“My son...I...” Grandfather Rick began but hesitated in the face of his own pride. He was responsible for the well-being of every Morty within his flock, who were instructed to trust Ricks with their lives.

He could never allow himself to betray that trust.

The Morty standing before him had been nearly crushed when the grandfather gently rebuked his idolatrous desire, and grandfather Rick was nearly certain Morty would seek to leave the convent in the face of his rejection. Morty had chosen to remain in his flock, willing to follow the bishop’s path in whatever capacity he could be allowed.

The elder felt his body warm at the desire to reach out to him. He yearned to return to the dangerous embrace which made him feel like he had returned home. But such a feeling was of the material world. It was purely a physical reaction, created to consume his rational mind, before leaving him stranded in the fading light, cast once more into the void of darkness.

The warmth of Morty’s embrace made his chosen path of solitude feel excruciatingly lonely, and in turn, loneliness made his struggle to resist temptation even more arduous. But he needed to persist.

Nothing good would ever be created from a Rick’s lust for sin.

“You should not have come to me this evening.” He gently rebuked, doing his best to hide his honest thoughts behind them, “I am unwell.”

“Grandfather Rick, please, let me be of service to you.” 

“There is nothing to be done. I’m afraid, my chest raced itself into a panic, and I stumbled shortly after we parted. That is all...please, do not worry, my son.”

“I’m sorry, Grandfather Rick,” The teen stared at the floor, with his fists clenched at his sides. “This is all my fault, isn’t it? I was doubting my faith—”

“—No! My son,” The grandfather resisted the urge to offer a reassuring hand on Morty’s shoulder, and beneath the sleeves of his robes, he gripped his forearms in restraint, digging nails into his flesh. “This body is merely made of flesh and bone. It is old.”

He pulled himself away from his doorframe, determined not to fall into the same temptation twice, and gripped the stone walls in place of his crook for assistance as he slowly retreated into the space of his small room. The boy sheepishly followed from behind, offering to help lower him onto the edge of his bed.

“Oh jeez, Grandfather. Y-you really don’t look well, l-let me help you—” The teen reached out to help lower the struggling elder’s torso onto the bed. The man’s body grew stiff at the physical contact, and immediately he moved to gently push Morty away, needing to maintain the distance between their bodies.

“—Surely, I am fine! Now, my son, I must urge you to leave!” Grandfather Rick’s face burned as he averted his gaze toward the fiery window. Standing beside him, Morty reached out a hesitant palm to cup the man’s cheek, smoothing a thumb across his skin, conviction glinting desirously in his eyes.

Grandfather Rick gravitated into the immeasurable warmth. With a single touch, the boy consumed him. He lifted his gaze toward illuminating nebulae eyes that burst into his existence, and their tempered horizon stilled his racing heart. For a fleeting moment he felt enlightened. Morty’s voice was soft and quiet, as the grandfather averted his gaze, casting it downward.

“I know it’s not worth much for someone as holy as you...I-I’m just another Morty… But may I...pray over you, Grandfather?”

The dual tones of Morty’s eyes, doubly peered into his existence, just as they had done on the night Grandfather Rick had found him. The pastoral Rick’s breaths fell still. He could not trust himself to speak. After a few weighted moments of meditation, he submitted to the teen’s request.

“Thou mayest.”

His head unconsciously bowed against the teen’s chest, with a heavy breath, and Morty lifted his other hand to fully cup his face. The teen thread delicate fingers through the older man’s hair, and carefully wrapped his arms around the grandfather’s shoulders in an enveloping embrace. It was so warm.

Grandfather Rick buried his face into the teen’s chest, momentarily hidden away from the gaze of the cosmos. Glimmering thoughts of hope took root and encroached his heart; a star-strewn night charting a course through the darkness.

Morty’s prayer was silent and endless as the stars. 

“Starry evening, Brother Morty! Surprised to see you still wearing your Sunday best.”

Morty flew to the other end of the room, as the two quickly separated from each other’s embrace, interrupted by the reverend who was quietly clinging to the door frame, with a plate of food in hand, watching their ambiguous interaction.

Morty’s face tinted the color of the window as he smoothed over the wrinkles of his mustard-colored sweater vest to make himself more presentable.

“R-Reverend Rick!”

“Forgive me for interrupting, Grandfather. I stood at your door and knocked, thinking sooner or later, _someone_ was bound to open it...” The liturgical stole which the reverend had failed to wear during the church service, was now mockingly draped across his shoulders in a boastful presentation.

Grandfather Rick’s eyes turned into distant stones once more, unmoving as a knowing grin crept along the edges of the reverend’s lips. His eyes flicked to Morty, giving the teen a meandering once over before showing himself into the room. He presented justification for his intrusion as he slid the plate of food onto the grandfather’s nightstand with a genuflection.

He turned to Morty, licking his lips as if the lust in the air between them was palpable.

“It seems we had the same idea to take care of our good grandfather, who has taken _such good_ care of us.”

“I just...y’know...I uh, heard he was sick, and uh. I wanted to make sure he was okay...and he is, and you brought him a warm meal, so uh, I’ll guess I’ll be going now. Reverend Rick, Grandfather Rick.”

Morty bowed his head toward Grandfather Rick, giving the hem of his sweater another straightening, awkward tug, as if it would make _less obvious_ the tenting in his jeans, before moving to excuse himself from the suddenly crowded room. The priest caught the hemline of his collar as he passed, drawing him back in.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

“N-nowhere! There’s no fire! I just— Grandfather Rick needs to rest.”

“Liar, liar...pants on—”

“—Reverend.” the grandfather interrupted the priest's less-than-innocent teasing. “Your kindness is to be expected, but my fast continues.”

Morty stilled at the information, returning his head toward the bishop, who had occupied himself by reticently staring out the window, hands folded in his lap. At the information, the teen wrapped fingers around his neck, and shifted in place, unsure of how to react.

“Oh...Grandfather Rick, you’re not...eating food? But you’re unwell. Aren’t you hungry?”

The Reverend feigned ignorance, shrugging toward the teen. “Hm, I wasn’t aware either. Be a shame if this meal went to waste... _So many_ starving Mortys in the Citadel streets— ” 

“—I am fine!” Grandfather Rick’s back remained turned toward Morty, as the hard words cut into space. Morty moved to approach him but the reverend placed a hand on Morty’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and a caress of his back. Warm eyes reassuringly seeped into him like a spool of honey, offering silent consolation and guidance. 

“I’ll take care of our Grandfather. Go with peace into the void, little lamb.”

Morty swallowed, then nodded, looking back into the room at the robed figure who drifted further into himself.

“Starlight be with you, Grandfather.” 

“May it also guide you, my son.”

***

The Reverend perched himself in the windowsill, occupying Grandfather Rick’s line of sight, and amusingly watched the elder’s face turn toward the strategically placed food at his nightstand. Waves of steam crept into the air, and the audible rumbling of the grandfather’s stomach sounded into the room. 

“I kind of like when that little lamb calls you _Grandfather_ . Shame he doesn't know about the filthy little…” The reverend trailed, searching for the right word, “ _concupiscent_ thoughts you’ve confessed about him. Should we let him join our ongoing sessions of penance?” 

“Those are—” The elder's frame visibly hardened at the accusing statement and Reverend Rick licked the row of his teeth, sinking into the tender subject. 

“—Coveting another Rick’s Morty is an _infinite_ sin, Grandfather.”

The Reverend's eyes flicked toward the hardening bulge beneath the grandfather's robes and mused, “Which of your flock so you think will eat from the tree of universal knowledge first? Which little Morty-lamb will relish that first, delicious taste of sin?”

With a quick tug, the reverend stripped the stole from his own shoulders, snaking his other hand out to coil fingers around the grandfather's wrists. The grandfather held his conspiratorial gaze and warned.

“Stay away from him.”

The priest snickered as he wound the length of cloth around the grandfather’s wrists, “And here I thought you’d be the Rick to turn the other cheek.” He finished the tie, binding the shepherd's hands in prayer, and grinned as the bishop half-heartedly struggled against him, “I’m merely a collar-bound servant to my faith, Grandfather. Idle hands are the devil's workshop.”

“You create nothing but sin!”

With a devious smile, the priest weighted a knee into the bed’s edge, and with a firm hand, pressed the grandfather securely against the stone wall, humming against his cloth.

“Amen, and hallelujah!”

Reverend Rick pressed the weight of his body against the bishop and licked a hot trail along the rim of his ear.

“It is so. But even the Ricks of the wicked calling, are bound by something greater than themselves.” The Reverend reached down between them to palm the bishop’s hardening erection, hissing in satisfaction at the hard-fought whimper that fell from the grandfather’s lips. The elder’s erection twitched beneath the desirous touch. “We’re fated to fulfill your fantasies of persecution, while you get off on your own ideological fantasy...feeling so self-righteous and _full_ of yourself.”

“Reverend!” He gasped.

“You’re praying for me, aren’t you?” He took the priests tethered hands in his and kissed them with sinful reverence. “With these hands, far too clean to know the sin and labor of a Rick.”

Grandfather Rick’s gaze lifted with compassion to meet the reverend’s, and they were filled with a gentle conviction. It momentarily moved the priest.

“I...I always have.”

Reverend Rick's motions stilled and he leaned forward to press a kiss of devotion into the curve of his counterpart’s mouth.

“ _So good_ to me, Grandfather." The reverend trailed his lips toward the elder's jawline, continuing, "The multiverse works in mysterious ways. We don’t have to understand how we fall into the curve. I suppose we just have to understand that we do.”

He stroked the older man’s thigh, rippling the cloth of the grandfather's cassock as he lifted it with autonomous authority. The priest buried his nose into the grandfather's neck, indulging the salty scent incense and soap. He flicked a tongue against the grandfather's flesh to partake of his cleanliness. 

“Do you still get hard denying your body pleasure? Do you yearn to resist my temptation?”

Grandfather Rick expelled a restrained sigh into reverend’s shoulder and held his breath, refusing to answer. The priest moved to palm the fabric of the shepherd’s swelling erection, giving it a suggestive grope as the grandfather bowed his face into the flesh of his partner's shoulder, ashamed of the desirous cry that tore itself fell from his betraying lips in answer.

“It’s easy to love your light, Grandfather, but I’m not like your flock. I love your darkness; the most intimate, vulnerable, secret essence of you."

Reverend Rick's tongue slithered from his lips to find its way into the grandfather’s parted flesh. He breathed fire against his counterpart's lips with an intimacy equal to devotion.

"I want you to surrender it to me.”

He darted forward to devour Grandfather Rick's offered moans. The press of the priest's wet muscle seared against him; its acidic taste wrote scarlet letters on his flesh, and the elder gasped, wrenching himself away, and turned his head. Reverend Rick hissed a command.

“Confess.”

“I’m a Rick of the cloth!” Grandfather Rick panted as the reverend lingered over him like the taste of shame in his mouth.

“Pride is the grandfather of all your sins.”

The priest wrapped slender fingers around the grandfather’s restrained wrists, pinning the grandfather's hands against his chest and ministered.

“The heart of your problem...” The reverend’s fingers crept beneath the cassock’s folds to take Grandfather Rick's circumcised flesh in hand. The elder sucked in a shuddering breath of pleasure at the contact. Grandfather Rick looked away from the reverend in humiliated denial. His erection wept as his body silently begged to be touched.

“...is that you’re too proud to _really_ get on your knees and beg like the desperate little cockslut you are. But _I know, baby._ I heard your prayer. You offered your sins at my feet. You _petitioned_ me for answers.” Reverend Rick shifted his weight fully onto the bed and lifted the grandfather's torso, tucking his thighs beneath the elder’s as he pinned his decrepit frame against the unmoving stone structure.

Reverend Rick lifted the robe just far enough to coil the elder’s knees around his hips, and he rocked the hard outline of his erection into the bare curve of the pastoral Rick’s his ass with a lustful groan.

“I held you in bondage...” He rolled his hips into flesh again and reached for the golden length of his cross to slip between the bishop’s fingers. He held the symbol of his faith and moaned.

“...so that even in your state of sin, you could act so _spitefully divine_.” The reverend trailed modest kisses along the bishop’s fabric-covered neck. Beneath the cover of the grandfather’s robes, Reverend Rick began to fervidly stroke the elder's yearning erection. His other hand blindly wrapped fingers around the flesh of Grandfather Rick's bare thigh, before rounding the flesh to grope the curve of his ass.

_"Et ne nos...indúcas in tentatióne"_

Grandfather Rick’s eyes slipped close with another shameful groan as he whispered chants in time with his counterpart’s movements.

Reverend Rick's pace quickened at the submission. His amber eyes deliciously glinted in the low light as he smiled wickedly, enjoying the power to so gracefully bring the grandfather’s pleasure to a climax. He bowed their foreheads together and moved against his flesh in carnal satisfaction.

“Take a cold hard look at me, Rick, cause I’m the devil you’ve always known,” Reverend Rick's lips brushed against the grandfather’s they communed in prayer. Their hot mouths intuitively pressed against each other with a multiversal knowing of shared desire. “I know your bible too.”

With an anguished moan, Grandfather Rick parted from the Reverend, and bowed his head, succumbing to the urges of his flesh.

“Come before me.” The serpentine voice permitted, and an ecstatic shudder bloomed across the elder's body. Reverend Rick pulled back the modest fabric at the grandfather's neck and bit sharply into flesh. The bishop writhed and clung to the priest, riding out the euphoric sensations of his release. Suffocating arms circled the elder, constricting him, as they drew their flesh tightly together. The reverend flicked his tongue over the Grandfather’s damaged, marred skin, relishing its taste.

“Taste the fruit of my labor, Grandfather.” He inserted fingers covered in Grandfather Rick's wasted seed into the elder's salivating mouth. His stomach moaned in hunger as he shamefully indulged in his own taste. The smell of sex clung to the contours of the reverend's dark fabric as he erected his posture. The hard outline of his own erection was visible. Completely in control over his desire, the minister withdrew from the invitation of the grandfather’s body.

Gracefully, he placed a chaste kiss on the elder’s forehead and untied the binding garment. The reverend's cross fell from the grandfather’s praying hands and swung neatly back into place.

Infused with the heat of his flesh, the weighted metal glowed with the same lucidity of Reverend Rick’s eyes. And with a wicked smirk, the priest glided out of the small room as quietly as he had entered. Grandfather Rick’s gaze followed him, waiting a few more moments to ensure he was truly gone, then with apprehension, he reached for the offering which had been left on the nightstand.

Shamefully, he broke his fast and devoured his meal like a thief in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“Hell is empty and the devils are here”:** This all hell breaks loose reference is from Shakespeare’s tragicomedy, _The Tempest._ a story of a morally ambiguous father and exiled ruler who uses manipulative magic to restore his daughter to power. He argues that the powerful must show mercy, ultimately breaking his staff and relinquishing his magical powers. I thought it was a nice tie-in to Grandfather Rick’s thoughts, stranded on the Citadel thinking of it as hell incarnate. 
> 
> **Venus in Furs, Rick in the Flesh:** There are a lot of references to Venus in Furs, the novella by the Austrian author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. The novella draws on the themes of female dominance and sadomasochism, but the characters in the story debate the shifting ideas of morality between practices of the old pagan gods and the new Christian ones. 
> 
> **Reverend Rick asks Grandfather Rick if a benevolent God can Sin:** The Problem of Evil refers to the question of how to reconcile the existence of evil with an omnipotent, omnibenevolent and omniscient God. An argument from evil claims that because evil exists, either God does not exist or does not have all three of those properties. This omnipotence paradox is also explored with phrases like “Can God make a stone so heavy even he could not lift it?”
> 
> Reverend Rick also says he is of the wicked calling, implying that his iteration on the Central Finite Curve is one predetermined to be a counterpoint to the grandfather's, likening his fate to something like Judas.
> 
>  **Reverend Rick (E-23),** named for the old testament book of Ezekiel 23, (A tale of two harlot sisters full of prostitution and sexual sin lusting for cumloads the size of horses). But his character is also inspired by Martin Luther a German professor of theology, composer, priest, monk and a seminal figure in the Protestant Reformation. Luther came to reject several teachings and practices of the Roman Catholic Church. He strongly disputed the Catholic view on indulgences.
> 
>  **Grandfather Rick (J-10),** Named from the Book of John, specifically, the passage of God being a shepherd is more new testament. Grandfather Rick is a self-governing entity, who places himself in a position of wisdom and authority not just against Morty’s but other Ricks. 
> 
> One of the challenges for making Grandfather Rick’s character was considering how someone who adheres to a strict moral system can be interpreted as rebellious, self-governing and well, what we think of as Rick’s core character traits. Grandfather Rick sticks to a more restrictive moral code, yet he is still very in-character. As a Rick, as he expresses a restless discontent for the status quo of the Citadel, and rebels against it by acting as a Rick of Faith, however, the shepherd Ricksona does not make him a good Rick, he has a savior complex, which can cause him to be infantilizing and passively possessive of Morty. He does not take kindly to Revered Rick trying to tempt what he thinks of as “his” lamb. 
> 
> **Morty G-4:** Named after the Cain and Abel story in the book of Genesis, which is a reference to both the biblical story, but also John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. Although one of the fundamental ideas in East of Eden is that evil is an innate and inescapable human problem, the novel also sets forth hope that each individual has the freedom to overcome evil by his or her own choice. This idea of free choice is encapsulated in the Hebrew word timshel, which translates to “thou mayest,” and appears in the story of Cain and Abel in the Bible, when God tells Cain that he has the freedom to choose to overcome sin. Steinbeck sees this idea of free will as central to the human condition.


	4. Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mutual indulgence has already declined into selfish appetite; now, that appetite becomes aware of the incompatible and equally selfish appetites of other people.” – Dante’s Inferno_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _**Courtesty Warnings (CWs) in Order:** Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Emotional Blackmail, Exploitation of Emotional Vulnerability, Coerced Molestation, Overtones of Grooming _
> 
> **A/N:** No Recap, but I'm gonna give a spoiler-ish, courtesy warning for some coerced molestation during the bathhouse scene towards the middle of this chapter, where Reverend Rick toys with Morty for the purpose of emotionally blackmailing and coercing Grandfather Rick into an act of sin. Morty, oblivious to the larger manipulations at work, and selfish to his own desires, gives his enthusiastic consent, but there's some angsty and intentionally uncomfortable moral ambiguity and shame with Grandfather Rick caving into doing something he perceives as wrong while being complicit to Reverend Ricks actions.

Rick flipped through the unbelievably thin pages of the holy bible, running a finger over the raised markings of sanguine letters, impressed at the level of detail placed into the fabricated hotel room. Sardonically, he fanned through its thick body, concluding that most of the human-fetishizing lifeforms who’d paid by the hour to rail his fleshy orifices weren't there to fill those fantasies halfway. They wanted every Earth-centric detail, down to the quintessential bible in the nightstand drawer, to be perfect. 

Capable of seeing the bigger picture, Rick earnestly smiled at his own distorted sense of dark humor. The unintentional meta-level irony of a sleazy, roach-infested motel room had somehow become the cannon for the universal fetishized imagination of how alien lifeforms understood human sex rituals, and for the line of intergalactic sex work he’d found himself trafficked into, the sketchy atmosphere fit like a surrealistic glove.

The sounds of the radio filtered overhead as Rick’s eyes studied the ochre-tinted fantasy—better than interdimensional pay-per-view. He smoothed a hand over the heinous floral pattern of the bedsheet, designed to obscure the collection of stains, and gazed up toward the stucco ceiling, sticky with amber layers of nicotine. It had begun to weep in dark lines down the faded wallpaper pattern, and Reverend Rick licked his lips, craving the taste of a bad habit.

His clients got what they paid for. 

Livestock didn't get the luxury of indulgence. 

After he’d lost his sense of time and place, Rick had considered himself fairly well-adjusted to the trajectory of his circumstance, but after a recent close encounter of the Rick kind, he’d been left shaken, and on edge with a renewed sense of dissatisfaction, no longer able to enjoy the comforts of the fabricated reality he’d forcibly grown comfortable in. Now, made excruciatingly aware of his confinement, he’d grown stir-crazy, itching for something to occupy his mind.

He dropped the bible onto his stomach wishing he had something else to read, and from his peripherals, Rick caught the gaze of a bulbous-headed lifeform, observing him through the transparent wall of his cage. He stretched himself across the mattress with a smirk and, eager to live, he seductively muttered under his breath willing the lifeform to action.

“Yeah, baby, like what you see?”

Unflinchingly, he held the unblinking crimson gaze of the Talosian, opening his legs in invitation as he suggestively palmed the merchandise on display. The reticent lifeform lingered for a few contemplative moments, then turned and glided away, leaving the Rick with a morose frown.

He was beginning to hear himself think.

“Yeah, we were never made to live on Earth, but I gotta admit, this is a pretty low fucking bar to set for ourselves.”

_A mirror image of himself manifested through a swirling green aberration of time-space, glancing around the room, still unimpressed at what he'd earlier called shitty craftsmanship, before introducing himself as “God”._

_Rick assumed it was some sort of shapeshifting kink, and fell to his knees, providing service to another client. With his reflection, he was surprised to discover he missed the intimacy found with a partner whose biology matched his own, and it wasn’t until they were passing the afterglow of a cigarette between them, that Weird Rick informed him of why he’d come. Asshole._

The Rick’s self-aggrandizing eyes flicked toward the abandoned reading material and he smirked. 

“E-23. Baby. One day, you're gonna rip this band-aid off and leave this all behind.”

Rick propped himself up on his bed, narrowing his eyes toward the former client who’d been the source of his restless discontent. 

“You’re back.” 

“Pssh, not for more.” The Rick immediately deflected, reaching for his flask. “Takin’ a break from cheap whores in the gutter of the universe. Never know what they’re carrying.” The prostitute’s expression darkened at the insinuating statement as the Rick continued, sipping from his flask. “But I am here to give you damn-near eternal salvation… Y-you’re welcome.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage.” The Rick lowered himself back onto the stained covers, lacing his hands behind his head as he stared at the familiar texture of the ceiling. “I already told you. I’m not interested in your _Shitadel,_ or whatever you call it.” 

“Yeah, cause getting fucked into oblivion as the galaxy’s human fleshlight is clearly the happy ending we all envisioned for ourselves.”

“Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is" Rick mused, as his eyes trailed along the sticky carcinogenic lines of time, "I’ve always thought of my myself as an exophile.” 

“Ugh, please. You think your such an exotic pet to these aliens. It’s given your ego a self-delusional hard on.” The Rick pinched his brow in irritation, muttering under his breath. “Fuck me...hate having to deal with my own shit.” 

He pocketed his flask and gestured to the surrounding room, voice climbing. 

“Think we've got this entire fucking universe figured out.”

Rick rolled his eyes at the self-infantilization. “Yeah, I'm gonna stop you at kink-shaming, Rick. The only real freedom in this universe is from the judgment of others. Th-that should really start with the judgment of self—” 

“—Look, If you die in this cage I-I’m gonna lose a bet. I’m not gonna ask you again.” 

“Then pass.” Rick shrugged toward the weird Rick with nonchalance, averting his gaze, already moving forward from their conversation as if he were another client. He'd spend a rare quarter and treat himself to the vibrating bedframe after the Rick left. His eyes narrowed and he turned back toward him, unable to resist having the final word of their interaction. 

“Any ‘God’ who wants to put me in hell for refusing to worship him...doesn’t deserve my faith.”

Weird Rick groaned toward the intergalactic whore, tossing an irritated glance over his shoulder toward the Talosian. The lifeform had returned and was now watching the pair of humans with an eldritch intensity. Hurriedly, he reached into his jacket pocket, deciding their time was up.

“Yeah, well, here’s the thing about God.” he walked over to Reverend Rick, and lifted the bible from his flesh to study it. He apathetically dropped it back onto his chest. 

“I don't give a fuck.” 

Beneath him, a portal opened, casting Rick into salvation.

***

Reverend Rick stared at the floating Star of Damocles in the Church’s altar, reminiscing his fateful encounter with the Central Finite Rick. If any individual Rick truly had a claim to the deistic title, it would be the Rickest. If, _Rickest Rick_ was a thinly veiled euphemism for misanthropic, nihilistic, asshole.

His thumb smoothed over the leather binding of his bible. The only item which had accompanied him into an afterlife of indentured servitude in so-called paradise.

Although he missed the interspecific xenosex of his previous life, Reverend Rick’s baseline was continuously well-adjusted, and despite being assigned to a life of monasticism in the Citadel's Church, he’d been gifted the freedom to live life his own way. Ultimately, the leap of faith into a much bigger cage had paid off.

He indulged his bad habits, taking a gratuitous sip from his flask.

Curious, his eyes followed Grandfather Rick, as the older man moved about the congregation, shepherd's crook in hand. The reverend smiled with smug satisfaction, knowing the grandfather felt the lingering soreness of their last confession in each small movement of his body. He licked his lips at the image of bruised skin, hidden beneath ordained cloth, and fell back against the pews, luxuriating in it.

Never more than a few steps behind, his favorite little lamb obediently followed the shepherd, distributing hymn books as they prepared for the morning service, serendipitously able to spend time together during their rare window of mutual worship. Morty nervously glanced over his shoulder to discover the grandfather already returning his gaze, and with a flowering blush, each quickly looked away from one another, returning to the task of worship at hand. Cute. 

He glanced intermittently between the two, with a deepening frown at their interactions as a pang of jealousy bloomed hot inside of him. He’d never experienced such a relationship, and he coveted the way Grandfather Rick gazed at Morty like the prodigal lost lamb he would never be.

Simultaneously, he coveted the way Morty exuded such wasted subservience of unconditional love and devotion. The only thing in this universe which could not be bought or sold.

Overcompensating for his lustful thoughts of the teen, Grandfather Rick was even more reserved with Morty, who in turn, was completely unaware to how obviously the elder returned his favor.

Blind leading the blind.

Far worse than the literal cage of the Citadel, were the restraints of one’s own making. 

As if sensing being watched, the duo paused, turning to stare at the priest who unflinchingly returned their gaze with an added intensity of invitation.

He flashed the merchandise on display, lifting the gold cross to his lips and drew its shape against his body with a luciferous grin. With the intent of divine intervention, he spoke the prayer of the devil’s advocate under his breath, while holding their shared gaze.

“Bless me, grandfather, for I have sinned...and I have every intent to sin again.”

***

Morty reluctantly parted from Grandfather Rick’s company and dragged his feet toward the chapter hall for bible study. Although it was the only time where he was able to actually study the meaning in the Morty scriptures, he dreaded each session. He did not fit in with the other followers in the Church, and often, he was teased for his inability to read the scriptures of the faith he was so committed to.

He’d always considered himself a devout follower to the Church of The Infinite Rick, but lately he’d found himself flipping through the pages he couldn’t read, asking questions that he didn’t think the book really had answers for, to begin with.

When he expressed his confusion to Grandfather Rick, he was offered a sympathetic smile and instructed to keep praying. _The light of The Infinite Rick would reveal his portal and give him clarity in time-space._ Morty’s continued search in the void, however, had only left him with a growing sense of dread about how little he did know. When he tried to speak with other Ricks of the cloth, they dismissed him with similarly vague aphorisms about the multiverse.

Morty’s thoughts returned to the reverend, who’d secretly spoken blasphemy in the safety of the confessional, and he yearned to return to the small space. Although the priest was unorthodox, Reverend Rick had been the first member of the Church willing to entertain his search for answers.

He sighed, leaning his forehead against the door to bible study, mulling over the last-minute decision to flee. The teen was unsure if he’d find what he was looking for on the other side until his ears picked up fragments of the muffled lecture from an abnormally charismatic and gravelly voice.

“...swear words are all blasphemous, which is to say they’re biblical in origin, so abso-fuckin-lutely, I’m practicing my faith when I curse.”

Morty pushed the door open, surprised to see the chapter hall brimming with the faces of his interdimensional brothers, all sitting on the floor with gazes of open lust and admiration. Reverend Rick, stood at the center of their multidimensional attentions, ruler in hand as if the slender piece of wood were a phallic symbol he was about to fellate in a demonstration. Morty swallowed.

“Brother Morty, welcome.” The reverend brought the tip of the ruler to his lips, with a genuine smile, and Morty’s grip tightened on the doorknob, understanding the sudden influx in interest, while also reminding himself that running away was still completely on the table.

“Wh-what are you just standing there for? Join us.”

Not waiting for Morty’s response, the priest dismissed his attention from the teen, and continued to answer the interrupted question, silently drawing the boy further into the room. Quietly, Morty held his breath and found a place on the floor next to his green-haired brother.

“...and every single _word_ in the bible is true. It only starts getting weird when you start putting them together. What else you got for me?”

Reverend Rick slid the ruler through his hands as he walked through the open space, wielding it with an aura of unspoken authority.

“Are you an atheist?” The Morty wearing a brown sweater shot up his hand eagerly asking the question before he was called on. Reverend Rick smirked as he turned his attention toward the Morty’s round face.

“Yeah, there's a lot of conflicting, or rather...” He spun the ruler in thought, before punctuating it into the ground, “...superimposed ideas of theism in this denomination. Gets a little paradoxical, but if I had to put a label on it, I’d say my orientation’s closer to a pantheist.”

“Is that why you wear pants?”

“No? What does that have to—No! Not that I have to explain myself, but I wear pants ‘cause I don’t see the need to swing my dick around the cathedra. Why are _you_ wearing boy shorts shorter than my life expectancy?” He continued to mutter under his breath. “Yeah, fucking _uniforms—_ y-you wanna know the _real_ reason half our congregation converted... _Faithfully_ comes to mass every Sunday...”

Morty half-heartedly listened to the lecture as he stared at the colors in the painted glass windows, losing himself in thought. Reverend Rick glanced around the room, locating his black sheep of the convent, and swung his ruler toward Morty to catch his attention.

“ _Brother_ Morty,” He spoke the name with added emphasis, “You wanna share the daydreams more important than _my_ time?”

Morty’s cheeks burned at the suggestive statement, and he glanced around the room, waiting for the inevitable snickers. The one-eyed Morty interrupted their interaction from the other side of the room.

“Stray Morty always has his head in the clouds, Reverend, it’s because he’s—” Instantly, the tip of the ruler fell against the One-eyed Morty’s throat, silencing him. The reverend's voice slipped, low and even from his lips. “Yeah, I wasn’t asking you, _son._ Did I even give you permission to speak _?”_

The one-eyed Morty, too nervous to answer, swallowed in response, and after a few moments of terse silence, the reverend returned the ruler to his chest. Morty released his breath in a moment of gratitude.

No other Rick leading bible study had ever intervened like that, and while Morty was thankful he didn’t have to sit through his brother’s teasing for the next hour, his stomach stirred anxiously at the idea that he had been given special treatment. The reverend had focused his own, and by proxy, the entire room’s attention on Morty, nodding in encouragement to continue. 

“Aw Jeez, I, uh. I guess,” Morty paused, swallowing his nervousness as he quickly glanced around the room, glaring at him with a mixture of silent judgment and jealousy. He turned his gaze back toward the priest.

“I don’t get why...” He trailed again, biting his lip, trying not to remember the intimate privacy of their confession, but wanting so much for elaboration on the things they had so openly discussed.

“Why uh...why is sin so bad?”

Immediately, the room burst into a chorus of muffled laughter, and Morty clenched his eyes shut in response, silently berating himself because he _knew it._ His question sounded _so stupid._

A sharp smack struck silence into the room, and the Mortys stilled, turning their collective attentions to Reverend Rick who had slapped the ruler into the flesh of his open palm in warning. With a pleasured hiss, he sighed into the painful contact, and satisfied with his student’s immediate silence, slid the length of wood over his fingers in deliberation before continuing.

“It sounds like one of those obvious questions, little lamb,” He extended the ruler beneath the boy's chin, and drew it up, directing the teen’s gaze from the stone floor to focus on his enlightened eyes. They glinted dangerously at Morty's attention, “But it’s actually pretty fuckin’ deep, so listen up, cause I’m only gonna explain it once.” 

Morty’s heart instinctually seized at the penetrating gaze that held him, motionless, and it ignited a long-forgotten sense of self-preservation. The intensity of the reverend's dangerously heated gaze commanded Morty's undivided focus, and the ruler’s edge rest beneath his chin until the surrounding brothers, the church, and the Citadel faded into the distant, unfocused edges of his perception. When the Reverend next spoke, he was speaking directly to the teen, as if nothing else existed or mattered but them.

"I’m gonna give it to you straight. Gonna tell you how it is, Brother Morty. A little _birds and the bees_ talk. We live in the Citadel. ‘N’ like the societies of most collectivist species, meaning—and everything else for that matter—is socially constructed. Manufactured. It’s a waste of time, and a pretty planetary mindset to try ‘n’ make universal claims of what’s right and wrong. Morals—it all comes down to individual choice, Morty, which is just that. Your mass-printed scriptures dress it up as something like _Esse Est Percipi:_ _as a Rick creates himself through his choices, he is creating an image of The Infinite Rick_ —but whatever. It basically means, sin, like any and all man-made concepts, really only have any sort of weight within the social construct which gives it meaning.”

“Wait, so sin… isn’t naturally bad, then? But you said—” Morty engaged in their conversation, slightly confused, but the reverend’s eyes lit in silent praise. 

“—For an _Acta Non Verba_ Rick of faith like _Our Grandfather,_ sin is _big ticket to hell_ bad, Brother Morty. What I’m saying is faith alone does _not,_ a good Rick, make.”

“Is that why they say Ricks of the cloth must practice what they preach? Because each Rick practices their faith in a different way?”

Morty echoed the aphorism that had been offered to him countless times, unable to hide the disappointment in his expression as his understanding solidified around Grandfather Rick. Although sin was subjective, Grandfather Rick would never subjectively sin.

Momentarily, he broke his gaze from the reverend. His jaw tightened with the taste of bitterness before the teen returned to face him.

“Yep,” The priest confirmed, “apparently, it's not just an empty expression.”

“So then, _this_ Church. On the Citadel. It’s different from Earth because there’s no heaven or hell? Good or evil?”

“Paradise lost, little lamb… All that remains is the void. The light of The Infinite Rick suggests that if the multiverse, or even if this Citadel is gonna have any of the things our individual or collective selves value— _good_ or _evil_ included, we're gonna have to put it there ourselves. Back to your “bible”: _Si eorum judicio stare tenentur liberi eritis—we are condemned to be free_."

The Reverend broke his gaze from Morty, withdrawing the length of the ruler, to neatly return it to his hand. His gaze swept around the room at the admiring blank faces and frowned.

“Shame. Looks like I lost some sheep.”

He reached into his pant’s pocket, revealing his flask and expressionless, played with the cap as he continued the lecture with an uninterested tone.

“Parting apple of ideology for today: _Don’t think about it.”_ He tossed a shot into the back of his throat, and returned his gaze to Morty, offering a sympathetic smile before speaking directly to him in warning.

“And _don't ask questions_ you don't really want to know the answers to. _Especially_ in confession.”

***

Morty could not find peaceful rest.

Unlike the previous nights, where everything felt too hot, this evening, he could not escape the frozen memory of the Citadel streets, and his entire body shivered in search for warmth. He rose from his bed and gathered his bath towel with the intent to sneak into the monastery’s communal bathhouse. The pool of hot water seemed like the only thing that could put his thoughts at ease.

He crept down the stone stairs and felt his way along the arching pillars of the cloister, stopping for a brief moment to gaze at the snow and stars. They were visible from the paradise garden, and the teen coldly shivered in the presentation of its indifferent beauty.

As he neared the entrance to the bath, the sounds of splashing water and a stifled moan echoed across the empty walls, filling Morty with an ominous sense of foreboding. He slowed, then stopped, listening for another sound, but after a long pause of silence, the teen dismissed his initial instincts. The cold was making him imagine things. He quietly rounded the doorway. 

Unnoticed, Morty stepped into the small bathhouse to find the reverend, knelt before the naked body of Grandfather Rick, whose eyes were clenched shut. His hands were clasped over his mouth, and his brow was furrowed together. A fierce blush ignited his chest and normally pale cheeks, and Morty’s mouth fell open at the display, as he silently skimmed the bright red marks littering the elder’s body in disbelief.

“Oh my jeez!” He dropped his towel and sputtered in shock, giving his presence away.

“Morty!” Grandfather Rick noticed the teen first and quickly moved to cover himself, tilting his face away from the teen’s gaze as if flushed a deeper shade of red. Wearing nothing but a smile that was a smooth as sin, the reverend remained settled between his counterpart’s knees. His bowed head slowly twisted to greet Morty, and the heat of the priest’s gaze licked against teen’s skin from across the room.

“Brother Morty.” Without a single intonation of surprise, the honey-infused words drizzled from the reverend’s tongue, sticky and laden with sensuous overtones. Heat rose into Morty’s cheeks and he questioned whether or not _he_ had been heard wandering in.

“You know, you’re _r~eally_ playing with fire when you burst in here like that…”

Morty held the reverend’s stripping gaze as the older man gave him a once over. Uncertain, he brought a hand to the back of his neck looking away from the sudden confrontation, unable to even consider another accidental glance toward Grandfather Rick in such a position.

His mind was blank, unable to process the scene he had just walked in on. His ears burned in embarrassment as he stared hard toward the stone floor. Willfully unseeing it, he began his retreat, flicking a nervous glance upward, before bailing halfway and returning to the stone floor. 

“I-I uh, oh... s-sorry,” He bowed his head lower and shifted in place, “I was just...I-I couldn’t sleep, and...oh, boy... ohh boy. It's _really_ late. Aw Jeez, I-I should—”

Grandfather Rick made attempting to leave as the sound of splashing water echoed across the open bathhouse. Morty’s eyes flicked in the direction of the movement to instead catch sight of the reverend. He slid against him, wrapping a pair of hands around the grandfather’s waist, before pulling him from the bath’s ledge and further into the water. With a conspiratorial chuckle, he pressed their bodies together and whispered something into the grandfather's ear. _Holy Rick, did they just kiss?_ Morty quickly retreated his line of sight from the naked bodies, adding his hand between them for good measure. The _last_ thing he needed was a sinful image like that eternally seared into his mind.

He swallowed with a grimace, thinking it might already be too late.

“Join us, brother Morty, the water is divine!” The reverend shamelessly stretched this muscles overhead, rippling them in display. He pulled away from Grandfather Rick to sit in the water at a safe distance beside him and continued.

 **“** Just what I needed to warm my blood, and you look like you’re unnecessarily suffering, standing there in the cold.”

At the mention of the water’s warmth Morty’s body visibly shivered. He wanted nothing more than the relief of immersing himself into the heat’s inviting embrace, more than any rational thoughts urging a moment of reflection. 

The reverend extended his elbows along the bath’s edge, and vocally sighed, basking in the heat of the teen’s embarrassment as Morty awkwardly removed his nightgown, turning the front of his body away from the two with a creeping blush to hide the infinitely damning evidence of his partial. He hesitated at the underwear and shyly glanced over his shoulder toward Grandfather Rick, to find him already staring, but immediately, he pivoted his gaze away at the suggestion of eye contact.

With the quickest maneuvering he could manage, Morty hopped out of the remainder of his clothing, and covering himself with one hand, and lowered his body into the intoxicatingly warm water. He settled on the lowest underwater stair with a satisfied sigh, allowing the heat to rise to his cheeks with the water level—as if sinking further into the transparent medium could hide his hardening erection.

Reverend Rick flicked a playful finger through the water’s surface in Morty’s direction catching his attention, before casually picking up the conversation, as if the two naked Rick’s sitting so close together hadn’t been engaged in something...sinful.

Morty narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and in defiance of the Ricks casualness, girded his loins. He folded his fingers like fig leaves over the sinful bits adorning his body and willed himself to focus on enjoying the warm water that he had come in search of. He bit his lip and took a deep breath. 

“Grandfather Rick was just confessing to me.” The reverend began, “I was washing his feet— ”

“—Reverend!” The sharp voice skipped across the water, and the reverend visibly pressed his tongue against a row of teeth while holding Morty's gaze. Although he no longer wore the white collar, Morty couldn’t help but imagine exactly where it might fall against his naked collarbones. He shuddered, sinking deeper into the water. 

“Forgive me, Grandfather... as you know, I have _quite_ the wicked tongue.”

The Reverend cocked his head toward his reflection and the two shared a silent, heated conversation before the priest apologetically returned his attention to Morty.

“But you know how it is. Even confessions of the holiest are bound by seal.” 

Morty nodded in understanding, eager to change the subject, shifting his gaze in the direction of anywhere but Grandfather Rick. Forcefully, he studied the fountains of hot water spilling from the walls in large arcing shapes, infusing the communal bath with the fragrance of perfumed oils: frankincense and myrrh. Morty rubbed his anointed fingers together, noticing the added softness of his skin.

Rolling clouds of mist clung to the warm surface against the cool night and slowly crept over it, granting the small group a small sense of obscurity. Morty's multicolored eyes flicked intermittently between the Rick who had rejected him and the reverend who had listened to his confession and bit his lip in frustration. 

Envy sweltered within him like a silent, sticky heat as images of the Ricks bodies pressed together made his erection stir with desire. _Of course,_ Ricks were allowed to do that. Mortys were always cut off from their world.

Thankful for the excuse of the heat to cover his still embarrassed and sexually frustrated blush, Morty bitterly understood that he was never meant to see such a thing. He chastised himself with a small sigh and apologized.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather—I know it’s against the rules to come down here at night. If I had just followed them...” Morty shifted in the water, sinking lower into it. “...I just couldn't get warm.”

“Are you are still being troubled by visions in your sleep?”

The small, communal bathhouse had a high spherical ceiling, and at the center of the dome, a round window invited those bathing to relax and enjoy the stars. Morty glanced up toward the grainy textured sky, and at the flakes of snow that fell through the portal-like architectural window, melting as they fell against the rippling waves of heat.

“Yeah,” Morty admitted with a different kind of embarrassment and shame, “I think it’s the snow.”

The pastoral Rick carefully spoke. His voice was as cautious as the surrounding water. “Rules are made to serve us so that we might best thrive within their restraint, but there are exceptions, my son.”

Reverend Rick flicked is eyes toward Morty, reading his thoughts as if they were an open book. He grinned and added to the grandfather’s answer, dismissively splashing a bit of water in the elder’s direction. 

“What he’s trying to say, is that we're breaking the rules tonight. Just. Like. You. Little, wayward lamb. It’s admittedly a bit...” he tossed his eyes to the grandfather, before returning them to Morty, “...Indulgent of us, but like Grandfather Rick said, rules are made to be broken.”

“That's not what I—”

“—Didn’t you break every rule in the god-damned book, bringing this Morty into the Monastery?” The reverend suddenly interrupted, turning to Morty, feigning ignorance. “That’s why you get called The Stray, ‘round the cloisters, isn't it?” 

Morty opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the grandfather.

“—Yes.” Busying himself with a sponge, Grandfather Rick, spoke for Morty as he meticulously washed the imagined dirt from his body, continuing to avoid the teen’s gaze. “I intentionally broke many rules of the Church, and for that reason, Morty has suffered greatly.”

Morty swallowed in shame at the statement. It was why everyone thought such terrible things about Grandfather Rick when it came to Morty. The teen knew the Church had special rules for Morty’s, but it was never meant to be a homeless shelter. While the doors were open to all Ricks and Mortys during hours of worship, the rules were clear about who was allowed to continuously live within its walls.

Morty had never understood why Grandfather Rick had done such a thing for him. He opened his mouth to ask, but Reverend Rick pressed him with another pointed question.

“Don’t you want to leave the Church? Find your Rick?” The Reverend, genuinely curious, looked to Morty waiting for his answer. The teen’s lips shook.

“I’m a mistake… Of the universe.” He bit his lip to still his emotion and took a breath. “The color of my eyes. They’ve always been this way. Because of that, he—”

Morty gazed into the water, wringing his hands. “He left me. On the Citadel...told me not to follow him. That was the last...” Morty stumbled on his own words and glanced up, simultaneously matching each of the Rick’s gaze with his chimera eyes. Quickly he looked away from each, not wanting to share more about himself.

He had been relieved to meet the reverend, whose amber eyes were similarly aberrant, but he was also thankful that, unlike the other Mortys in the convent, he had something in common with the grandfather, and could share his azurite vision for the Church. There was nothing to be found reminiscing the past. Morty changed the subject to his present and future. 

“The Church is all there is for me...I owe everything to Gran—the grace of The Infinite Rick… even when I struggle with my path.” 

He chewed the inside of his cheek, willfully and humbly reminding himself of his own insignificance, as water lapped against their flesh in soft wet sounds. The teen willed himself to relax and gazed upward with a deep breath, sinking into himself.

“Morty, I’ve taken a spin around the galaxy of life forms. Even spent some time with a few eldritch abominations, and trust me.” The reverend spoke with authoritative gravitas as he called the teen’s gaze to return to him, “The rarer the anomaly, the more exquisite the beauty of this multiverse is illustrated. That vibrating chimera gaze is nothing to _ever_ be ashamed of.”

The teen averted his gaze in quiet shame, unbelieving of the confidence in the reverend’s words until Grandfather Rick contemplatively added onto his counterpart’s thoughts.

“Anxiety and doubt are responses to one’s ability to act as a self. For to have a self, to be a self is the greatest concession made to man, but at the same time, it is eternity’s demand upon him… For the self is a synthesis in which the finite is a limiting factor and the infinite the expanding factor. In your eyes, my son, I have seen the nature of both.”

Grandfather Rick spoke with reverence in the common tongue, and as Morty glanced up to meet his gaze, and the elder blushed in earnest tone, holding their gaze for the first time since Morty had entered into the bathhouse.

The Rick between them possessively hissed, re-focusing their attention on him, as he slithered through the water.

“Acta Non Verba.”

Reverend Rick positioned himself on the raised stair behind Morty, and the teen glanced over his shoulder with a questioning gaze. The priest's hand fell, slick onto his bare shoulder, and its grip tightened. 

“Yeah, I’ll bite, little lamb. Nothing wrong with getting a bit worked up when Grandfather Rick quotes scripture as if he’s gospel in the living flesh, but I’m more of a pragmatist.”

“Reverend.” Grandfather Rick had visibly paled and his body had stilled in the water. His voice warned his counterpart with uncertainty, and the reverend leaned forward, pressing skin against skin as Morty’s breath hitched at the sudden contact.

“Until he’s presented with a choice of actual consequence, I-I don’t think his values are worth much of anything."

The reverend wrapped slick fingers around Morty’s shoulders and bent over him with an intentional amount of teasing distance. 

“Wh-why don’t you practice what you preach, Grandfather? Let's wash this little lamb in ritual _if_ he desires such a communal blessing from our hands.”

Morty swallowed at the thought, feeling his erection jerk at the implicative suggestions dripping from the reverend’s tongue.

“Uh, a blessing?” Morty’s throat ran dry as he echoed the words, blushing as his eyes stole a dangerously hopeful glance toward the grandfather. The elder’s body had gone rigid at the proposition. 

“He’s _so eager_ to receive you, Grandfather.” The priest licked his lips and teasingly chuckled, lifting Morty from the lowest stair to settle him suggestively between his thighs. He slid his body closer, and something slippery brushed against his lower back, causing Morty to jump and splash in the water at the thought of what it might be. A dark chuckle fell from the priest, who playfully ruffled the tuft of the teen’s wet hair.

“Such a _good_ little, subservient lamb. He’s more than worthy, don’t you think?”

Thumbs circled the teen’s shoulders as waves of heat dangerously rippled from the reverend’s body. Morty squirmed in place at the thought of being invited to join whatever act of sin the Ricks had been engaged in before he had interrupted.

He bit his lip and suppressed a lustful sigh, but quickly curbed his arousal at the sight of Grandfather Rick. A sharp blue gaze dangerously leered toward the reverend. Morty could not see the priest’s expression, but the grandfather’s eyes glinted with an unmoving timeless edge that could cut diamonds and forge stars. He’d never seen such a violent expression on the grandfather’s face, and Morty’s chest tightened at being caught in its umbra.

“I forgot that you’re still feeling unwell, Grandfather.” The reverend challenged, as the pressure of his fingertips mounted into Morty’s skin. “If you’d like to retire... I’d be happy to stay and offer my ministry to him, without your assistance.”

“—Morty, my son.” Lowered to his eye level, Grandfather Rick called him by name and Morty dutifully focused his attention. The elder moved through the water and positioned himself at Morty's feet, pressing into to him with a serious and weighted gaze. Morty's heart surged beneath the hard surface of older man’s eyes.

“This would be an act worthy of veneration, do you understand?”

Instinctively, Morty covered himself once more. He tucked the bobbing rod of flesh between his legs in remembered awareness of his shame and clamped his thighs together despite the discomfort. There was an abrasive edge in Grandfather Rick’s voice. It was expectant of Morty. Patiently waiting for the teen to deny his desire of sin before him. Although the scriptures taught Morty's to follow the light of Ricks, It was ultimately their choice to do so. Grandfather and Reverend Rick were putting Morty's faith to the test.

Morty struggled with the choice, chewing his lip in silent deliberation. It shouldn’t have been this hard. He blushed in shameful, idolatrous reverence as he imagined Grandfather Rick’s hands blessing his skin in ritual. He breathed deeply at the thought of being held by him.

After accidentally seeing him tonight, Morty doubted he’d ever be this close to him again.

“Grandfather Rick, I…” He broke their gaze, too ashamed to honestly express his carnal desire of the older man. “...It’s sacred. But I—I understand.”

He swallowed, and clenched his eyes in shame, “Please, I want to receive you— your blessings. Bless me.”

Reverend Rick sucked in a pleasured, hissing stream the words and pressed his shoulders into the teen from behind. Small waves of water desirously lapped against them with the motion, and the reverend spoke against the teen's ear while communing with the abandoned shepherd.

“I’m sure your favorite little lamb knows _exactly_ how much he wants to be venerated by you, grandfather. H-How much he wants those devout hands to worship his flesh.”

A shiver ran down Morty's back at the implicating words, and the baritone vibrations of the reverend’s voice stirred his erection further into arousal. He let out a soft whimper, and shifted his hips, searching for friction in the slick water. The reverend's hands lowered beneath the surface and constricted around his hipbones, holding him in place.

“He wants you to touch him.” 

Half-heartedly grateful for the assistance in controlling his body before the Rick he worshiped, Morty suddenly gasped, desperately grasping at the moment within reach. 

“I know it’s wrong, Grandfather.” he confessed, “I know it's idolatry! I just. I’ve always wanted to follow you—offer myself to you. Please, I understand!”

Reverend Rick hummed antagonistically to the grandfather, barring an arm across Morty's chest, to graze a thumb across him, and Morty lustfully melted into the embrace of his flesh, feeling the older man’s erection twitch against his lower back.

“Reveal yourself as a false idol, Grandfather. Humble yourself before your lost lamb... wash _his_ feet.” Morty sighed his grandfather’s name, bracing himself against the reverend’s forearm as he felt another slip of the Rick's skin against him. His erection throbbed at the physical contact, and the reverend’s fingertips dug into his hips.”

“Remind him that we're all beasts of flesh.”

Grandfather Rick hesitated in contemplative silence as he sank further into his thoughts, obscured by the thick clouds of steam that rose between them. The reverend’s hands slithered upwards to rub Morty’s shoulders, and Morty fell silent as the motions of the priest’s meditative hands relaxed him into the gentle sway of a massage.

His head fell back to gaze at the stars as an illuminating moment of clarity washed over him. He bit his lip in service and humbled himself for his grandfather. Straightening his posture, he tucked his erection downward, closing his eyes in sacrifice.

“Its… It’s okay, Grandfather Rick.” He wrenched the honest words from his lips, burning in his own debasement. Grandfather Rick had already given him so much. “I know I’m a mis—I-I’m. I’ve never been.” He caught himself and took a deep breath before confessing. “I’m not worth such a blessing.”

Unable to look at the teen, Grandfather Rick reached forward, and with the gentlest, featherlight touch, lifted his ankle and pulled it into his embrace, worshiping it.

Shocked, Morty lifted his gaze and fell into a penetrating stare. It lovingly lay bare his soul, reaching into its innermost depth with tenderness and intimacy. Grandfather Rick’s azure gaze made the teen feel more vulnerable and exposed than any sin of physical nakedness ever could.

The older man held him in grace and reverence, kneeling in the most devout form of prayer to offer his blessings to the teen who felt unworthy to receive them.

“My son. Your worth,” A painful ache slipped from his parted lips. “is more than you can ever imagine.”

Grandfather Rick's oiled hands lovingly caressed his skin, carefully sluicing the dirt from Morty’s feet, and the teen’s erection pulsed at the lightest brush of the elder’s fingertips. It was exactly as he imagined. It was better than he imagined. He sighed into the second pair of hands, which had resumed massaging his shoulders, and his breathing grew heavy with the daze of overwhelming sensation.

The hot water caused him to sweat, which then cooled against the refreshing kiss of the frigid night air, and Morty was caught at the horizon between the two Rick’s desires. He swayed into the ebb and flow of sensation as the pairs of hands worked to bless his body in ritual.

Above, the reverend hummed pausing to languidly lather swaths of soap over Morty’s shoulders and back, indulgently massaging out the knots of muscle at the base of the boy’s neck, and below, the grandfather traced fingers across Morty’s skin in utter devotion, as if he were studying scripture and memorizing every detail. 

A rush of alarmingly hot water poured over Morty’s head causing the teen to jump in surprise at the ticklish sensation. His foot slipped from the grandfather’s hand’s to momentarily graze against an unseen erection, and Morty gasped with a sudden, embarrassed panic, and quickly retreated himself. He was unsure if he wanted to verbally apologize for discovering that Grandfather Rick could have an erection, or for possibly giving him one. He swallowed and caught the older man's gaze before they both hurriedly looked away from each other in unspoken embarrassment.

The Reverend ignored their awkwardness and continued to hum to himself while massaging fingers through Morty's scalp. Morty did his best to settle back into the embrace of the Rick behind him, but his erection throbbed while his embarrassment burned a shade darker.

Usually, those two sensations canceled each other out, but somehow with Grandfather Rick, the wires had crossed, and they were now, actively feeding into each other. Morty no longer cared to differentiate between them. He was satisfied with either, and he timidly offered his second foot to the grandfather, who received him with shaking fingertips.

Reverend Rick’s fingers snaked around Morty’s entire shoulder, and with a satisfied grunt of effort, he pressed a firm thumb beneath the teen’s shoulder blade to work out a particularly stubborn knot.

“Oh jeez… ooohhhhhh jeez!” The teen released a long, drawn-out moan at the embarrassing mixture of pleasure and pain, further amplified by the shame and arousal. He writhed against the reverend’s body at the contact, arching his back against the blunt tip of the man's erection. With each passing second, he frustratedly grew more aware of his need to find release.

Warbly moans continued to spill out of his mouth, and at the lewd series of sounds, Grandfather Rick’s fingers pressed covetously into the dip of the teen’s ankle in restraint.

“Feels good doesn't it?” The reverend shifted against Morty’s back, applying the smallest amount of pressure with his hips. He punctuated the statement with the hard outline of his erection, and Morty sucked in a hard stream of air.

“Ohoh, ohhhhh, my Rick. Omyrick”

Reverend Rick groaned against the teen’s ear in response to Morty’s whimpering sounds, but he continued to obediently massage the teen’s muscles, his own pulsing insistently against him. 

“Forgive the sins of my flesh, Brother Morty.”

“Yeah...uh, ah-ah-awkward boners, y-you know. They-they happen. Old lady sin, she uh.” Morty swallowed, “She bucks pretty har—hoooo ooohhh.”

Morty’s muscles involuntarily spasmed as they gave, and the teen fell back against the priest’s hands. The firmly held him in place as he continued to work out another tight knot. Grandfather Rick’s grip tightened around Morty's jerking flesh and continued to rub his thumb over the same, tight, meditative circle, making the teen’s skin burn from the focused sensation. 

“Ohhh, Mmm, Grandfather Rick…Ahh”

He sighed, a bit too sinfully, and instantly, he felt the hands fearfully withdraw from his skin. He whined in protest as Reverend Rick hooked an arm around Morty's chest, flushing their bodies together and chided him.

“Patience is a virtue, little lamb...Let Grandfather Rick offer his blessings in time.”

Morty panted a frustrated moan into the reverend’s neck, sinking further into his daze of lust. He reached toward his own erection, needing release to the point of no longer caring who witnessed it, but the priest caught Morty’s hands, pinning them against the teen’s hips and with ease, the Reverend held him still as Morty frustratingly shifted and moaned against the restraint. His body stuttered through the water, attempting to thrust against anything that would give him the smallest amount of friction. He cried out, searching for relief from the painful ache of his erection that was _so close._

“Grandfather! Hnnng, please!”

Intoxicated by the overwhelming sensations, Morty released a desperate, pleading sound as the ripples of water teasingly licked at his erection. It wasn’t nearly enough, and Morty let out another frustrated sound. Reverend Rick continued to chastise him with glee.

“This was only supposed to be a baptismal, Morty.”

“Please! I need...to be blessed. I need—Grandfather!”

Morty glanced toward Grandfather Rick with a shamelessly flushed face, reduced to whimpering through half-lidded eyes of lust. He stared at him with unadulterated want, and licked his lips, silently pleading with the grandfather.

He cared more about finding a physical release at that moment than the intrusive thoughts screaming shame in the recesses of his mind. Grandfather Rick, heard his calls and gripped the teen’s ankle with enough force that it shook. The elder covetously stared at the reverend in warning.

“Grandfather, please. _Please._ Bless me. Please. Reverend—”

“—You see that look little lamb?” The reverend bowed his head to rest against Morty’s, directing their attentions to the Rick, glowering at their feet.

“Grandfather Rick doesn't like when I fuck around with what he thinks of as his.”

“Yes. I’m his, reverend. His. Help him bless me! I need him to—”

Morty sobbed as he writhed against the reverend’s constricting grip, barely listening to a word falling out of the minister’s mouth. The priest dragged his lips against the teen’s skin, increasing the pressure of his fingertips around Morty’s waist and causing the last threads of his remaining composure to unravel. He erratically thrashed against the reverend, begging for salvation in animalistic bleating sounds. 

“Bless me. Reverend. Please—”

“—But fuck me, Morty,” the Priest’s nose indulgently traveled behind the teen’s ear, relishing the scent of his anointed hair. Reverend Rick held the grandfather’s gaze as he pressed a tongue against the untarnished skin of the boy’s neck, applying pressure onto the surging surface of his veins while baring his teeth in a smile.

“You look good enough to eat.”

The reverend’s tongue slithered to the teen’s ear, innocently taking the small flesh of his lobe into his mouth, and suckled it, before offering the gentlest grinding bite.

Morty moaned and kicked his foot at the sensation, shoving it firmly against the grandfather’s erection, who sang out a sinfully pleasured groan, calling the teen by name, and at once, every muscle in Morty’s body tensed as he felt himself come in shuddering spurts into the bath. The Reverend held his stuttering hips and finally released him when the boy, spent, slumped into the warm pillow of flesh behind him.

With a sigh of relief, his entire body relaxed into the enveloping orgasmic haze, until he heard Grandfather Rick’s anguished, stifled moans continue. His eyes fluttered open to witness the image of Grandfather Rick shamefully fondling himself at Morty’s feet, covering his mouth.

A pair of hands fell over his eyes, blinding him, as sinister lips returned to ear.

“Harken to your God, as he struggles with the weight of his sin.”

Morty listened to the quiet weighted gasps that lasted for a seeming eternity. He felt the ripple of waves that lapped against him as the grandfather’s body ecstatically shook with release. Then, he felt the water still, and a dark desirous hope crept over him as he searched for the Rick through the darkness. Although Morty knew it was wrong, he selfishly called out to the grandfather during his moment of weakness. 

“Grandfather, ki-kiss me! Please! Kiss me!”

A wet hand reached out, and a trembling thumb traced the teen’s bottom lip with a venerating touch, before quickly and suddenly withdrawing. A fragile voice of stone crumbled at his feet. 

‘Forgive me, my son.”

With a fluid motion, the elder rose from the bath, and Morty listened to the receding sounds of his retreat. Instantly, the teen was swallowed with the sensation of regret as he pushed the reverend's hands away, attempting to follow.

The consequences of his choice sank like a stone suddenly and heavily into the water.

The reverends hands constricted around him. 

***

Morty woke with a start and felt the warm presence of a body stir beside him, shifting beneath the covers. Intuitively he sought it out, pressing himself against the fabric of the reverend’s chest. The golden cross fell between them, infused with the heat of their bodies. 

“You didn’t leave.”

“You asked me to stay...” Reverend Rick responded groggily coiling arms around the teen’s body to draw him further into the warm embrace. His eyes briefly opened and his attention focused on the candle, still quietly flickering on the bedside. He turned away from it, and buried his nose into the tresses of the teen's hair, smoothing a comforting hand across his back.

“...said you couldn’t get warm.” He yawned. “Never liked sleeping alone either. I also sleep better. Like this.”

Morty nodded against his chest, as the reverend drifted back to sleep. The teen was left wide awake in his arms, processing the events of the evening. After Grandfather Rick had left them alone in the bathhouse, Morty had grown delirious and sobbed into the reverends arms.

The priest helped him out of the bath. He clothed and carried the Morty back to his dormitory, where the teen had clutched onto the fabric of his shirt and begged him to stay. He didn’t want to be left alone after what had happened.

Seeing Grandfather Rick touch himself to the thought of Morty had stirred a dark hope inside of him, but in the wake of their sin, Morty was unsure if the grandfather would ever want to speak with him again. He had given up everything for a few moments of pleasure.

Morty bit his trembling lip, needing to focus on something else. Warmth wrapped around his thoughts and the memory of the reverend’s erection pressed against him. He felt his own erection stretch and swell against the heat that had clung so close to him, despite everything.

Unlike grandfather Rick, the reverend did not bring himself to climax, and Morty wondered if ignoring his arousal made the reverend’s stomach hurt in the same way it made his own when he tried not to masturbate. 

Morty stilled his entire body, pressing it close to ensure the reverend was still asleep, before sliding a hand down his own thigh. Carefully, he inched the fabric up to gain access to the hardening erection and slipped fingers beneath the rippled fabric of his nightgown. He touched himself with curiosity, considering his own physical reactions. _It felt good._ He touched himself more, exploring his own body, as a mixture of frustrated emotions swelled inside of him. _It felt good, and why was that so bad?_

Careful not to wake the reverend sleeping beside him, Morty nuzzled his forehead against the rich obsidian fabric of the man’s chest and listened to the soft sounds of his heartbeat. His own pounded at the thought of his shameless desire to sin. He knew it wouldn’t take long. He needed to experience this, without Grandfather Rick’s gaze. He needed to feel the sin he had chosen over his state of grace.

He twitched in his hand at the thought of Grandfather Rick, and he quickly willed the thought from his mind. He needed to think of someone else. With a quiet pant, he wet himself with the beading wetness of his arousal. His eyes fluttered to a close and he bit his lip, indulgently taking in the smell of the reverend’s cloth. It smelled like the perfumes from the bath, but also of alcohol, dust, and sweat.

With as little motion as possible Morty pleasured himself, stroking fingers over the most sensitive part of his length, just beneath the tip, and whimpered in restraint against the heat of the reverend’s golden cross. Catching a gasp, he brought his free hand over his mouth, careful not to wake the Rick whose arm was slung over his warm body, swallowing him in its heat. Eventually, Morty’s hips began to shake in small motions. He arched his back into the reverend’s fabric with a moan, causing the man to stir once again. Tight arms constricted around the teen with awareness.

Morty held his breath to keep lewd sounds from escaping and pulled his forehead back to discover a pair of amber eyes above a small white square glinting toward him. Their luminescence burned against the darkness, and Morty gasped. He tried to pull away, but the arms further compressed around him.

“I-I’m sorry Reverend,” Morty confessed, biting his lip, embarrassed and ashamed of his actions.

The Reverend held his iridescent gaze and silently reached down between them to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, parting the ordained cloth to expose the bare skin of his navel in invitation. Morty moaned at the memory of their skin pressing together and buried his forehead into the reverend’s shoulder. He rutted embarrassingly against the man’s thigh. 

“Go ahead, little lamb.” The reverend offered himself with a sultry whisper, flicking his tongue across his lower lip. He bowed his head forward and breathed into his ear. “Use me.” 

Morty nodded, bringing his hands to rest on the priest’s neck and shoulders, and drew their bodies flush together, pressing skin against skin. He let out a satisfied gasp as he slicked his leaking erection against the reverend's sinfully soft skin, sighing with pleasure into his ear. _It felt so good._ Reverend Rick’s arms constricted around the teen’s upper back, breathing in the scent of the teen’s collar bone, and Morty’s lips parted to release a groan as the priest’s tongue darted out to taste him.

Clutching the man's head in desperate, overwhelmed grasps, Morty thrust against the slip of skin that had been offered. He let out another stifled groan at _how good_ the warm friction and heat of the Rick’s skin felt against his swollen flesh. The cross burned hot between them as the teen shamefully held back the lewd sounds of his pleasure. His fingers clenched around the Reverend's fabric to brace himself, smearing pre-cum across his exposed navel as he continued to masturbate against his flesh.

His thigh brushed against the older man’s hips, and he gasped at the hot press of the reverend’s erection, hard against him. Reverend Rick groaned into the boy’s neck at the contact, and Morty lost himself to the quiet motions of his lustful trance, encouraged by the reverend’s whispered sweet nothings. A hand slithered down his frame, gently gripping the teen's waist, before resting at the dip of his lower back.

Morty held his breath with each thrust into the priest's cloth, and the reverend’s middle finger suggestively strayed to inch itself lower, dipping into the curve of the teen’s ass with an insistent, pointed press.

The implicative gesture sent Morty's thoughts barrelling over the edge, and he tensed then shuddered, rolling his hips hard into his release, messily spilling over the priest’s skin with a whispered, barely audible moan. Reverend Rick held him in a suffocating embrace and pressed a lingering kiss into his jawline as they silently prayed. 

“It feels good.” The shaky muffled words of realization spilled from Morty’s lips, and clarity once again returned to him. Morty felt his lip wobbling, and he trembled as the quiet darkness of the room engulfed him like the void.

“He-he must ha-hate me.” Hot tears began to spill from his eyes anew, and he felt more alone than ever. 

“Little lamb.” Rick leaned forward to kiss Morty’s crown and ran a soothing hand over his back as he tucked the teen into his chest. “In his eyes, you can do no wrong. He loves you more than you can imagine.”

The reverend cradled him in his arms, rocking him in a gentle sway as the teen confessed, apologized for his sins, and sobbed.

“I've got you, little lamb. I’m gonna take care of you in the ways that he can’t. I’m not going anywhere...I’m gonna hold you. All night. Focus on my hands. My touch. I’ve got you.”

Reverend Rick held Morty against his torso and extinguished the candle at his bedside, blanketing the room in darkness.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As Morty’s sobs ebbed, soft red petals of light spilled through the window’s painted facade. He stared at them, focusing on the reverend’s hands that smoothed over his back and arms. Eventually, it lulled him into a deep sleep. 

***

Grandfather Rick’s dreams were vividly tormenting. He woke to the painful throbbing of another unwanted erection, disappointed that he’d not been brought to climax in his sleep. He exhaled a slow and careful stream, indulging the memory of Morty, lost to the haze of his sinful desires, pleading with reckless abandon for the grandfather to follow him into temptation.

At the thought of Morty calling out to him, his erection wept in search of sin. 

His lips parted in a silent, gasping shudder. He had wanted to, and he had almost lost his sense of self in such an overwhelming physical desire. Regret swept over the Grandfather, as he turned to his side and hugged his pillow, resolutely concluding that he could never again touch himself to the thought of Morty, ensnared within the reverend’s hands. Pleading for the grandfather's intervention.

He shouldn't have left Morty alone with Reverend Rick, but it was that noble intention which had paved the way for his blind stumble into sin.

Frustrated, he sighed into his bedsheets, wondering what events had transpired in his absence. He imagined the reverend's hands-on Morty, consumed in carnal desire. The Reverend, taking his lamb to bed and defiling him. He groaned at the thought, aching with envy against the friction of his pillow, and rocked into the fabric as a compromise settled into his thoughts.

Moving as if he were possessed, he slid the pillow down toward his pelvis and weighted his hips against it. Immediately the image of the teen’s stained glass eyes burst into his thoughts and consumed his sense of pleasure.

His erection ached, harder than it ever had, and the grandfather gasped in relief as he buried himself into the soft fabric embrace of imagined flesh. He rolled on top of it, needing to feel more, and leaned forward to kiss his bedsheets as if they were the manifestation of his imaginations. _How would Reverend Rick touch him?_

Aching with shame, the grandfather imagined every detail of _how_ he had left his lamb to be debased at the hands of Reverend Rick. He reflected the counterpart of his mind's eye, tracing the curve of an imagined back. He lay a sinful hand over the fabricated flesh, rolling his hips against the pillow’s body with a groan, and whispered songs of praise as he worshiped him in spirit. 

“Morty. My son.” 

He gasped, and cradled the teen’s name on his tongue, chafing flesh into the pillow beneath him. He groped the fabric as if the swaths of cotton were slips of skin. At the sound of his own lustful moan, the pastoral Rick brought his rosary-bound hand to his mouth and gagged himself, stifling the humiliating sounds that were escaping him.

The sharp sting of his teeth faded into a mixture of pleasure, and he grunted into the mounting release, continuing to thrust into the pillow of imagined flesh between his legs, as thoughts of the reverend penetrating Morty set fire to his mind.

The vision of Morty begging for salvation returned to him, and the teen’s eyes openly pleaded for his touch.

_Grandfather. Please!_

Wet stains of lust seeped through his robes, and Grandfather Rick’s weight fully collapsed onto the pillow. He held it tight against his body, continuing to claim his lamb. He bunched the bedsheets against his chest and imagined his nose grazing the tresses of the boy’s hair. He desperately nuzzled the flesh of his other arm wishing it did not belong to him and groaned as he buried himself into the warm embrace of imagined bodies.

They were tangled into a monstrous form.

His lips tightened around the shape of his flesh and he drooled with lust, pressing shameful kisses of reverent adoration onto Morty’s lips. Below his movements, the frame of his bed strained and groaned with each dry thrust, and he lusted for the wetness of his body. The grandfather returned himself to the bathhouse. To the teen’s sobbing moans of suffering as he begged for the grandfather’s intervention. In wet blooms of heat, he invoked Morty’s name from the void and spilled his seed within the fabric of his robes.

He buried his face into the bedsheets, gasping from exertion as his senses returned to him with an overwhelming horror. The grandfather was left deeply shaken that such an image—another Rick defiling his grandson—had incited so much sexual pleasure.

Nothing good was ever created by a Rick’s lust for sin.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, and reduced by his churning thoughts, Grandfather Rick surrendered himself to his last desire of the night. He brought the pillow of an imagined body against his chest and tucked it under his chin.

With a sinful embrace the teen could never know, he lovingly held it in his arms and wept, caressing it until he succumbed to his body’s need for sleep.

Finally, he found a peaceful rest.

Silent and unmoving as the void. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Weird Rick, as C-137, the Central Finite Rick:** The Starry AU Has a [ Fic about this Rick. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166845/chapters/40363664) God Complexes all around. Reverend Rick references Chamus with “Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.” 
> 
> **The Menagerie:** In S3E5, Morty’s Mindblowers, Rick and Morty are trapped in similar circumstances to Reverend Rick. This scene was a pop-culture reference to Star Trek’s unaired pilot episode, “The Cage”. In it, the characters are captured with the intent to be used as breeding stock for a race of slaves and use their power of illusion to try to interest the characters in sex. Presenting them in various guises and settings, designed to appeal to the base carnal desires. 
> 
> **To have a self is eternity’s demand upon him:** This quote of grandfather Rick’s “scripture” is from Soren Kierkegaard. 
> 
> **Epicurean hedonism at its finest:** Reverend Rick says “The only true freedom is from the judgment of others.” reflecting some pre-biblical ideas of pleasure as the ultimate good. Pleasure defined as freedom from anxiety and mental pain, especially that arising from needless fear of death and of the gods. In Athens, 300 BC the philosopher and materialist, Epicurus established the world's first commune based around philosophy and communal living spaces. This later influenced Saint Benedict's establishment of the first Monastery. My tongue-in-cheek writing just wanted to have Reverend Rick subvert the monastic communal bathhouse to dip into those conflicting ideas with a surprising shared origin. In line with his moral system, Reverend Rick holds that ethics have no meaning until one must act, so he puts Grandfather Rick’s faith to the test. 
> 
> **Acta Non Verba:** "Actions, not words" is written on the chalkboard of the Morty academy in S3E1, so I wanted to incorporate it into bible study. Reverend Rick touches on the ideas of Citadel Society and the intention of the church with the phrase “We are condemned to be free” from French existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre who elaborated, “I create myself through what I do, the choices I make in a world without fixed values. I am what I do. What heightens the anguish is that every sincere decision I take presents a picture of what I believe any human being should be like. In fashioning myself, I fashion humanity.”
> 
>  **Paradise Lost:** In bible study, Reverend Rick references _Paradise Lost,_ (TBH, The Bible’s first fanfic). The story follows the Morning Star’s (Lucifer’s) fall from grace, and his transformation into Satan, the serpent who tempted Eve with the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Being cast into the Citadel, Reverend Rick’s character is very Luciferian in that his motivations are driven by his lack of being the center of Grandfather Rick’s or Morty’s attention and his lust for power.
> 
>  **The Infinite Rick as the ideal Rick:** I HC that The Infinite Rick is a phrase used by Weird Rick in S3E1 to describe the collective identity of Rick Sanchez as its own species of human, similar to a hive mind species like Unity, except for on an interdimensional scale.  
>    
> In terms of this religion, Grandfather Rick interprets this idea to represent the ideal form or essence of Rick Sanchez and tries to strive toward that idealistic vision he has for himself. Reverend Rick, on the other hand, sees every iteration as contributing to the greater collective, and concerning where he falls into that, takes a stance closer to a Nietzschean stance of Amor Fati, or love of one's own fate.


	5. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“At the top, the active hatreds rend and snarl at one another; at the bottom, the sullen hatreds lie gurgling, unable even to express themselves for the rage that chokes them.” – Dante’s Inferno_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _**Courtesy Warnings (CW) for this chapter in order:** Heavy angst, manipulative behavior, confessional booth sex, gaslighting behavior, mentions of suicidal thoughts, guilt-tripping, jealous/possessive sex, disciplinary spanking/corporal punishment, dubious consent, triggered angst, scene shutdown. _  
> 
> 
> **A/N:** No recap, but this chapter is gonna feature some messy emotions, (aha, but mostly wrath). Spoiler-ish content warnings: Toward the middle, Grandfather Rick is gonna get a bit creepy trying to guilt trip Morty back to a righteous path while Reverend Rick is still balls deep in sin, playing puppet master. There's a heated scene with a jealous and possessive Reverend Rick/Morty that is orchestrated by the reverend but it has some dark implication to the extent of the power Reverend Rick has over Morty. Toward the end of the chapter, the Ricks are each other's throats, and there's impact play/corporal punishment with a bible, that results in some suddenly triggered angst and a scene shutdown, but there is aftercare which is sweet, but could be seen as Rick grooming.

He had driven Morty away.

Grandfather Rick led the morning service, glancing across the iterations of his congregation as he searched for the sight of his stray lamb, unable to hide the disappointment in his eyes at the teen’s absence. He had grown used to seeing Morty in the front row pews of every service, waiting to worship each word that fell from the elder's lips.

After discovering how much the teen struggled to read, the bishop had found himself dedicating hours to prepare the messages of worship, each with Morty in the forefront of his mind.

_“We are lifeforms who need meaning, but we are each, abandoned in a universe void of it. Purity of heart is to will meaning into existence. Its highest form—the most infinitely beautiful things in this universe—are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen. They are to be lived. Experienced.”_

The Star of Damocles wavered above him, and from behind a stoic expression, Grandfather Rick regurgitated one such message from memory as he felt the magnetic pull of the void.

_Acta Non Verba_

The shepherd offered the ritualistic communion, while he, himself was not clean enough to consecrate it, and as each Rick and Morty knelt to receive a piece of his sullen flesh, a terrible, dark emotion took hold of the grandfather. He caught himself silently counting the members of his congregation.

How many he was willing to trade, to bring one, back into his fold.

He sighed, and his eyes skimmed the seemingly empty church as he searched across its depths.

_Coveting another Rick’s Morty is an Infinite Sin._

Dozens of eyes dulled in comparison to the memory of the teen's multifaceted gaze, and the grandfather felt the light of the star dip further toward him at the acknowledged ugliness of such an irrational attachment.

Following the service, the laity filed out of the cathedra, and back into the rotation of the Citadel. Grandfather Rick took careful inventory and blessed each interdimensional member in parting. His heart sank further into his chest, and he braced the unaddressed weight of his sins against his staff.

Reverend Rick had also been absent from mass.

Grandfather Rick had found himself, alone. He gazed into the empty cathedra, unconsciously waiting for the light of a miracle in the darkness of a meaningless existence.

The shepherd had denied himself, and as a result, the Reverend had taken Morty's virtue from him. His grip tightened around his staff, and he drummed it on the surface of the marble floor.

The secular priest could _never_ love Morty in the way he would.

With a reluctant breath, and too many emotions vying to suffocate him, the clerical Rick humbled himself and focused his attention to the cathedra. Dismissing the day’s administrative tasks, he drew a fragrant bucket of soapy water and carried it to the sacred heart of his faith. He lowered himself to his knees on the cold marble floor and tied the sleeves of his robes behind his back. He perched his staff against the pews, and lovingly went to work, spitefully scrubbing the dirt from the divine structure in an act of service.

_If meaning could be added to the universe. It could also be withdrawn._

“A Rick’s hands are to his body, as acts are to his existence.”

The elder quietly chanted the aphorism in meditation as he practiced penance, purifying his mind as he reverently cleansed the body of the cathedra, thankful for the distraction of labor. Grandfather Rick lost himself in his thoughts, so focused on the task at hand, he failed to notice the sheepish presence that settled beside him until bristling sounds of fervid scrubbing echoed his own.

He glanced up to see Morty, hard at work beside him, and at once, he was overwhelmed with relief and joy to see that his lamb had returned to him.

“Mor—My son.”

“I’m. I—I’m so sorry Grandfather Rick. I slept in! Th-through morning prayer.”

The guilt weighing in his voice was earnest. Not once, had Morty missed a Church service. Grandfather Rick dipped the cleaning brush into the burning water and pressed his weight into it as he scrubbed at his emotions, willing the filth away as Morty continued.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I promise it won't—”

“—You were with _him.”_ Grandfather Rick bit his tongue as the knowing statement quietly accused. He continued to scrub a section of the floor with dedicated focus as Morty fell silent, speaking volumes of admission.

A quiet wrath began to suffocate the elder’s rational thought, drowning him in a rising sea of emotion.

“After you left...” Morty joined the grandfather in his work once again, attempting to offer an explanation before coming up short of any satisfying answer and falling quiet once more. Unable to meet his gaze, the teen blushed, before he continued to earnestly wash the stone steps beside them in penance. The grandfather flicked his eyes away in frustration, misconstruing judgment in his voice. 

_“I did_ what was best for you,” Grandfather Rick grunted with frustration as he fervently washed, splashing his voice like the scalding water against the cathedra’s floor, “a-and you _choose_ to—to fall into sin! _With him.”_

With a sharp intake of breath, Morty stopped cleaning, and gently, carefully set the brush aside as he rose from the stone floor. The grandfather’s gaze followed the teen’s movements, taking in the shifting expression as Morty struggled to communicate his thoughts.

“I did.”

The iridescent colors of the stained glass rosette, reflected on the wet surface of the floor, illuminating the incandescent beauty of the cosmos as the ripples of their existences in motion collided. With hard eyes, Grandfather Rick cast another judgment against Morty.

“Your love for this Church,” He retreated his gaze and continued to scrub, “did it have nothing to do with a faith of your own? Or was it only ever born of your idolatry and lust?”

Morty sharply looked down at the grandfather from above and held his gaze. It expanded with dissonant conviction: infinite and finite weighted together with the gravity of his dual existence. 

“My love isn't made of brick and stone. My love for this Church. My desire for faith. My desire for sin. It’s _always_ been through you.”

“My son. You, more than any other should know that I could have never allowed myself to—”

“—I don't know!” Morty interrupted him, surprised by his own words. “You made this Church. Y-you made every rule in it! So, i-if you wanted it to happen. If you wanted me. Then—why couldn’t you have just. Let it—”

“—Because I am your _Grandfather,_ Morty!”

The brush fell from the elder’s hands and loudly clattered across the stone floor. The cadence of the grandfather’s heart thrummed in anguish at his own draconian words. He clung to the unmoving foundation of his faith and stared at his dark reflection on the wet surface of the stone. 

_Coveting another Rick’s Morty is an Infinte Sin._

“The thought of _him_ …touching _you!”_ Morty looked to Grandfather Rick whose hand grasped for the rosary hanging from his chest. He gripped it until his paper-thin skin flushed white, refusing to look in Morty’s direction. He attempted to deny his unwanted thoughts of lust and envy and wrath, but his unibrow furrowed into monstrous lines, hard and jagged as his words.

“That was something _our faith._ _This Church_ —something _I_ never wanted for you.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Morty’s face reddened in shame at the judgemental confrontation of his sin, but his lips obstinately held together for a terse moment of silence, before he unceremoniously broke it.

“But, wh-what do y-you know...about. About what I want? About. Needing to be touched. Needing to feel...” Morty bit his suddenly wobbling lip, instantly regretful of his words, laced with honest emotion.

"His touch made me feel like I exist."

The elder closed his eyes in silent deliberation, willing away the painful memories rising to the forefront of his mind. 

“My son. I am inexperienced. I am not ignorant.”

In silence, Grandfather Rick bit his pious lip and turned away from the teen, reaching for his brush to continue scrubbing the section of the floor. In silence, he willed away the memory of his sin. The clandestine moment where he was able to hold Morty's body in prayer. He clenched his eyes shut and scrubbed at the very space they knelt in.

Morty sighed out a single hopeless laugh at the elder’s defense and scrubbed the tears, welling in the corner of his blue eye.

“I forgot.” Morty’s words might have been sarcastic if they hadn’t sounded so defeated and distant. He turned to leave, slinging a small stone against the deistic figure, as he named the grandfather’s sin on his tongue.

“It’s different if he’s with you.”

***

Morty had retreated to his dormitory. He stared blankly at the pages of his bible, attempting to interpret meaning from the letterforms as they continuously shifted on the page. 

Every inch of the paper was densely filled with transfigured shapes, and their stains writhed across the white of the paper, tangling into indecipherable and inseparable meanings. Regardless, Morty studied the scriptures, attempting to interpret their patterns and shapes as they forbiddingly twisted into each other. Sometimes they meaningfully connected, and the teen found truth in a single moment before the larger meaning of the word elusively slipped through his fingertips. He grasped with desperation at the leather binding, until their undulating motions invoked the taste of bile on his tongue.

His broken eyes, swept uselessly across the dry pages, refusing to water its surface with his tears. He closed his eyes to still the nauseating storm of his emotions, and his meditative thoughts wandered to the Reverend.

_They woke entangled in a morning prayer. A trail of drool spilled down the priest's chin and onto the teen's forehead, and the fermented scent called Morty to wake from his peaceful rest._

_Morty couldn't remember the last time he had slept so peacefully. He roused himself with a stretch, and Reverend Rick stirred, mumbling a groggy acknowledgment of the boy in his arms. He shifted, lifting his head to glance out the window, and searched for the time. Eventually, he brought his forearm to his lips, and wiped the trail saliva from his chin, before returning to plant a kiss on the teen’s crown._

_Morty pressed himself against the man's beating chest, and in their quiet moment of worship, felt his heart beat freely within their tangled embrace of sin. He accidentally brushed against the reverend's morning erection, but when the teen reached a hand toward its seemingly inviting swell, the priest intervened, catching him at the wrist to still his movements._

_In a rare moment of hesitation, the Reverend’s thumb deliberated and smoothed itself over the sensitive underside of Morty’s skin._

_“Earth wasn't made in seven days, little lamb. L-let’s allow last night's sins to settle before you start straying for garden snakes when you’re supposed to be in morning prayer.”_

_At the mention, Morty’s eyes blew wide in panic, and he threw himself from the bed, quickly dressing himself. He left the Reverend behind, shouting something after him about confession._

With a weighted sigh, Morty set the bible aside as his thoughts dizzyingly spun. He ruminated his confrontation with Grandfather Rick. The older man had refused to even hear of the teen's gentle sin, and as Morty tried to explain, it was made apparent that Grandfather Rick had already harshly judged the lightest of his alleged sins with a weight equal to the worst.

At the realization, a suffocating revelation of dark euphoria ensnared his heart.

Morty was left torn between the cathedra, which had become his sanctuary, and the authoritative fixture living inside of it, which had made the teen feel as if he had done something unforgivable.

When Morty considered the weight of his chosen sin, he exhilarated in the weightless sense of freedom the Reverend had permitted him to feel in experience of it. For the first time in his life, Morty felt like he’d done something right, but a single sin was all it took for Grandfather Rick to look at Morty as if the teen no longer belonged to him.

And for that reason, Morty suddenly felt lost. 

Although the fear that his new life might only ever be temporary, never truly left him, it had been a long time since Morty had felt unsafe within the walls of the Church. The secular side of him had only ever been waiting for the bottom to fall out, and his recent interaction with the Grandfather Rick made that part of him feel bitter and hopeless in an affirmation: From the first moment he slipped up, Morty somehow always knew that he would no longer be welcome within the arms of Grandfather Rick's infinite grace.

He pressed his hand into the bedding where he lay in clandestine confession with another Rick, and was comforted by the thought of another existence who had been willing to share his experience of sin.

***

Morty had always felt safe in the confined space. The wooden coffin-like structure reminded him of the box and life he’d left behind when he first came to the Church, and a strange sense of nostalgia blanketed him in the peaceful darkness as the teen slipped beyond the obscuring curtains and lowered himself to his knees.

The teen drew the shape of the cross over his heart. It hammered against the wall of his chest as he spoke in reverence, wringing his folded his hands together. Questioning his faith, he bowed his head at the window in prayer, and listened to his faltering breaths. 

“Forgive me, Grandfather, for I have sinned.”

His confession was met with a wall of silence, and Morty cleared his throat and confessed again into the void.

“Forgive me, _Reverend._ For I have _sinned!”_

A small series of movements filtered through the screen, and Morty listened as the presence on the other side of the booth roused itself to awareness with a sharp, slurping intake of breath.

“—Jeezus Christ,” Reverend Rick’s presence paused to collect his thoughts, “Already?”

“Aw jeez, I-I'm trying my best.”

“So we slept in and skipped mass, I promise you, Morty, the Citadel's gonna continue to spin.”

To the priest, the teen wasn’t just another Morty in the church’s convent. Even from behind the gilded lattice barrier, Reverend Rick could recognize Morty by demeanor alone. His chest tightened at the thought, and he chewed his smiling lip. Reverend Rick made him feel like an individual.

“If you enjoyed yourself last night. Y’know, you don't _have_ to feel guilty about it come daylight.”

“No, that's—” Morty interjected, thankful that his creeping blush was veiled before the priest, “That’s not why I'm—”

He unfolded his hand, and nervously wrapped it around his neck, fidgeting with the gold chain draped over his button-up blouse as the reverend’s cautionary words from bible study, echoed in his head. 

“Am I in a cult?”

Reverend Rick paused, before his words rose with a sudden, serious tone.

“Morty, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re questioning this Rickligion, seeking me, an authority in said Rickligion out. It’s not— It isn’t exactly your brightest idea.” 

“Oh, I uh... Aw jeez.”

Morty swallowed at the somewhat obvious sage advice, and let the words sink in as the Rick contradicted himself.

“—But! As tempting as converting you into some kind of power exchange sounds…” The silhouetted figure on the other side of the confessional trailed and leaned against the barrier between them. “You can’t just throw that word around ‘cause you think you’ve been sold some snake oil. The Latin word _literally_ translates to worship, Morty. Derived from those who _actively cultivated_ worship towards a specific God. Y’know, maintained the various sacred spaces ‘n’ all that. All new religions are cults, and all old cults are religions.”

On the other side of the barrier, the metallic sound of liquid shifting in a flask slipped through, and Morty unconsciously licked his lips, wanting to taste the knowledge flowing on the reverend’s tongue.

“So, how do I know? I-I mean, what. What’s the difference between uh, a Rickligion and a cult?”

“Hmm, _what would Sanchez do?_ Shame you can’t use the Chuch's library on your journey to self-discovery.” He mused, and Morty frowned in shame at the pointed suggestion.

“That’s not fair, Reverend! I’ve only ever been told to follow! A-and you uh, y'know? I can’t read! There’s nowhere else to go!”

“That's because your entire social world is exclusively tied to other members in this congregation.”

“Reverend, you’re the only one... Who's been willing to answer my questions, and I’m asking because I wanna know.”

A groan pushed its way through the confessional as sounds of the Reverend's deliberating fingers gently rapped against the screen. With an exaggerated sigh, the minister shared his knowledge.

“In a cult, it’s all about extremes, Morty. A big ol’ orgy of people cirlce jerkin’ it over some big idea—Calling it the one true way or whatever. Usually, _'that way'_ leads to a single charismatic figurehead—Not really gonna get into exactly _what kind_ of blind devotion transforms one lone nutcase into a spiritual leader...”

The Reverend paused for effect, and Morty imagined half of his unibrow cocked accusingly in his direction.

“...but as an organization, cults tend to really revolve around _that_ person's individual needs. In a religion, that person's usually dead, so… Well, they just stick to the broader concepts. Focus more on cultivating the social community at large. The uh, rituals of their mutual worship.”

“That’s uh—”

“—A little tricky with The Church of The Infinite Rick? Yeah, cause the Infinite Rick’s a collective identity, but that metaphysical essence is still just one person who eventually either is or isn't.”

“—Does that mean Grandfather Rick is really... _a God?_ Can uh, can you be in a cult and still be religious? Can you even be God and worship yourself? Can a cult exist inside a church?”

From behind the threshold, the Rick knowingly chuckled at the sudden series of questions, and scrubbed a hand across his face in amusement, before answering them with a single answer.

“Ughh, Morty. I hate when people compare Grandfather Rick to _the God._ I-I mean, sure. He’s the figurehead of this whole piece of performance art— The good shepherd ‘n’ all that... but he’s not me.”

“—Oh my Rick, I’m in a cult.” Morty gaped as realization dawned.

“God the grandfather.” Rick praised the teen's arrival with another sip of his flask. His shadow visibly and dismissively shrugged with a belch, “But so wha~t? If you can take the leap of faith _into God,_ you can sure as hell take it into a cult, _Brother Morty._ All beliefs are philosophically equal in the void. Besides, wh-who isn’t in some kind of a cult following these days? If you ask me—which you did—might as well nail your grievances to the Church door and get on with life.”

Morty fell quiet, as his fingers unconsciously traveled the length of golden chain hanging around his neck, stopping over the small cross, anchored over his heart. He closed his eyes and thought of Grandfather Rick while examining the metallic contours.

He’d always wondered why all the crosses were all inverted, but he never really thought to question it. Although small, the piece of metal had always felt heavy. As if it carried the weight of something tangible and real to the teen, but within the beat of an ominous moment in the confessional, that weight had suddenly grown burdensome. The reverend interjected himself into the teen’s silent journey of revelation.

“—Oh yeah, one more thing. If it’s a cult, it's a little closer to _Hotel California._ Y-you can check out anytime, but you can never leave. But, seeing as that’s just the Citadel at large—”

“—What is it that you want, Reverend?" Morty asked the question defensively, but with genuine curiosity, "Why do you practice this faith?”

The lighthearted banter from the reverend fell silent as he earnestly considered the teen’s question.

“Free will really is a bitch of a question, isn't it?” the shape of his silhouette shrugged, “I don’t really know...been trying to find out. Seems like this place could be heaven or it could be hell... But in the end, it seems like we're all pretty much prisoners of our own device—”

“—I wanna sin.” The words fell, unhesitatingly, and with surety from Morty's mouth. To his relief, he could feel the motions on the other side of the booth still as the reverend held his words with the same weighted conviction the teen had spoken them. 

“I’m gonna remind you that I’m a priest, Morty.” Through the barrier, amber eyes glinted, and Morty could hear the reverend’s breathing slow into a careful, calculated trickle as the atmosphere grew thick between them. Morty deliberately held his gaze. 

“Well, then uh, maybe you should... I dunno. Maybe you should act more like one.”

“Brother Morty.” The voice emitted through the barrier in a low warning, as his presence slid closer, “I’m gonna need you to take that pointed finger, and shove it _w~ay_ up your ass.”

“Show me...H-how to sin, Reverend.” With a pleading tone, Morty pressed himself against the metallic lace with shallow breath, hoping his attempt to seduce the priest would work. “I-I’ve been uh, th-thinking! About you. Let’s be bound by confessional seal. J-just like you and Grandfather Rick!” 

“Pssh, yeah...” The Rick scoffed at Morty’s overt demonstration, and the teen could practically feel his eyes roll, “...and me being the loophole in his circular logic is almost as bad as _it’s not sex if it’s anal._ Sin is a lot like your inexperienced teenage sex, Morty. Everyone _says_ they're doing it, but nobody’s _doing it well._ Jeezus, I know you’re supposed to be the stray, th-the black sheep. The Judas steer, but, y-you’re really tryin’ to jump into the deep end of hell with this one.”

“You said hell doesn't exist!”

“As in the _literal place,_ Morty, but _figuratively?_ It’s a lot closer than you think.”

Morty pushed himself away from the barrier in frustration at the second rejection of his day, and exited the confessional, rounding it with obstinate, marching steps as he slipped into the reverend’s side of the booth, closing the curtain behind him.

He turned to face the reverend, unobstructed. The priest was casually seated on the bench of the confessional in a freshly pressed uniform. His legs were lazily parted and his arm slung over the tiny windowsill, dangling a flask from his fingertips. His tongue flicked against his teeth as a pair of amber eyes slid searing lines across Morty's body. The teen shivered as the minister shifted in his seat, leaning forward to catch his chin in a feather-light hold. Lazily, he grazed a fingertip across the teen’s skin, examining it.

“Lemme guess.” He quietly tsked his own assumptions, “My little wayward lamb is feeling left out in the cold from the good shepherd’s wrath. So your _grand plan_ is that if you can’t be his absolute _favorite,_ your _spiteful, vindictive little ass_ is gonna set out to be his biggest problem.”

Ignoring the question which had stripped his ulterior motives bare, Morty defensively snatched the flask from his fingertips. He held the reverend’s amber gaze with his own iridium eyes and tilted the liquid onto his tongue.

Immediately he retched. His body jerked forward at the all-consuming acrid taste of alcohol, and Morty slapped a hand against the booth wall, bracing himself above the reverend’s shoulders. Tears welled in the corners of his multicolored eyes, and he wrenched them shut, forcing himself to struggle and swallow. Every inch of his insides burned a poignant trail straight into his stomach, where it bloomed uncomfortably hot.

The teen wrestled with his body to regain control of himself. Each gasping stream of breath painfully seared his senses. He opened his watery eyes to take in the reverend’s expression. The priest was biting his lip, enjoying the display of his body’s responses from below. A wide grin stretched across his lips at their shared eye contact, before he moved to rest a steadying arm on Morty’s shoulder, offering it a condescending-yet-proud squeeze, before slithering down its length to retrieve the fermented fruit from Morty’s fingers.

With a dangerously playful smirk, he brought the flask to his own lips, inviting the liquid into his body as if it were water.

He licked the lingering taste of Morty’s lips.

“Holy water burns like hellfire, Morty,” He warned in a low, even tone, thick with arousal. “You play with it, and you’re gonna get burned.”

“I know...” Morty’s voice fell quiet into the confessional space. He placed a hand on the reverend’s cheek, caressing the warm skin. “But I can’t do this alone...if I’m...If I’m gonna sin, I want it to be with someone who. Wh-who isn’t afraid of—who knows how to handle fire.”

Morty held his eyes and swallowed as the words burned in his throat.

“I want you to sin with me.”

“Mmm, my clever, little lamb.” The reverend praised, meeting his tone in challenge.

A pair of hands wrapped around Morty’s hips, and with a possessive growl, the teen was maneuvered onto the seat of the bench. Reverend Rick knelt between the teen’s parted legs and slid his hips between them until their bodies were flushed together. Hands slid the length of Morty’s thighs as the reverend’s tongue, wet with the scent of fire, tasted the teen’s jawline and whispered temptation into his ear.

“Sure,” he trailed his nose through the tresses of the teen’s hair, tasting the sweat from a bare patch of skin, “I’ll play seven minutes in heaven with you.”

Enveloped in the warmth of the reverend’s body, Morty’s eyes fell to a close at the sudden overwhelming contact. With an aroused exhale, the priest pressed the heat in his pants against the teen’s swelling erection, and Morty groaned into the swell of friction.

“Before we subvert the powers that be in this Church, let’s be clear, Morty.” The priest continued to kiss at the teen’s neck, before pulling away to face him, “‘Cause I don’t want you to be the little lamb who cried _the devil made me do it,_ when you wanna get back into Grandfather Rick’s good graces.” The reverend reached toward the white square of his collar, pulling it away from his neck as his eyes desirously searched each of Morty’s. 

“Why is he so _different_ with you?” Morty bit his lip in envy, and averted his gaze, staring at the symbol of faith which had been monetarily set aside. The Reverend dismissively shrugged.

“Eh, this whole Rickligion is a character study of the arbitrary lines in his scriptures, but my point still stands. You've got a lot more to lose with this than I do. I’m gonna treat you like a Rick, ‘cause the endgame of what you’re asking for here? It’s a tangible kind of sin, Morty.”

“But—” Morty's gaze returned to the reverend as he squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, “W-we already sinned in the bath—and y-you let me use you!”

 _“Use_ is the key word there, little lamb. I was having fun playing around with Grandfather Rick's pet, who could only think with his dick. But this is different for you, Morty. This is you knowingly conspiring to tempt Grandfather Rick from his state of grace. That’s the literal kind of sin. The kind that that’ll slowly chip away and shape you as it shapes him.”

A pair of thumbs questioningly circled the fabric of Morty’s waist, as fingers wrapped around his small frame. 

“But that’s what—You’re _already_ tempting Grandfather Rick! Y-you bit him!” Morty accused with a frustrated huff.

“Oh I know, baby, I’ve been trying to tempt that ass from grace for ages, but the weight of that sin isn’t gonna _crush_ me, little one, and this sin’s a _pearl of great price._ Witnessing his fall, knowing you helped pave the way with your _good intentions?_ ” He placed a hand against Morty’s cheek, and caressed it, “Is that the sacrifice you’re willing to pay to have him?” 

The priest reached between them, and lifted the small cross from Morty’s chest, examining it between his fingertips, before making eye-contact with the teen. His eyes caught in the low-light of the confessional.

“With you. This is a kiss of betrayal.”

The heat of their bodies pressed together without space between them, and now that they no longer had a wall to divide their sins, Morty’s confidence of moments before was quickly fading. The weight of the reverend’s words heatedly fell into Morty’s consciousness, and with them, the teen felt the lick of the fire he was playing with stir uncomfortably in his stomach.

He swallowed, and his chest tightened at the intensity flowing within Reverend’s Ricks eyes. Their vivacious amber glow made it seem as if they were in motion, despite the absolute stillness of the older man’s body.

Morty’s throat ran dry at the proposition of making a choice, understanding that he was fully in control of the sin unfolding between them. He swallowed and nodded.

“I-I understand...” Morty took a steadying breath, before reaching toward the buttons on his own shirt. With shaking fingers, he began to unfasten them, nodding as he made himself vulnerable and offered his flesh. 

“It’s an act worthy of veneration.” With a mixture of spite and desire, he echoed the words Grandfather Rick had spoken to him, and Reverend Rick chuckled, giving his thighs another grope. He licked his lips and conspiratorially contemplated the teen with the manic gaze of a cult member. 

“Well then, ask and you shall receive... Tell me what you want, baby.”

The reverend reached out to assist Morty, and his dexterous fingers quickly worked the buttons free. He slid his fingers between the slips of the teen's fabric, grazing a calloused thumb over the sensitive flesh of a nipple.

Morty quietly flinched and clenched his eyes shut. The priest lifted his free hand and settled an open palm onto the boy’s cheek, leaning into the hollow of Morty’s neck to press a line of kisses against the underside of his jaw. 

“My little lamb. I'm not gonna harm you.”

The warm press of the Rick's hand, caused Morty to instinctively grip the fabric of the reverend’s shirt. The teen’s slender fingers felt their way around the shape of the priest's large golden cross, and he clenched it tightly. He thought of the grandfather’s naked body, stained with the sanguine marks of the reverend's work, and breathed heavy. A confused mixture of apprehension and exhilaration.

“D-do you want to...hurt me?”

“Mmm,” Reverend Rick flashed a smile against his skin, and for a moment of fear, Morty felt his mechanisms of self-preservation stir.

“I enjoy a bit of sadism, but there's causing pain for consensual pleasure...” He lifted Morty's hand, and kissed his open palm, before sealing his lips over the underside of the teen's _very_ sensitive wrist in demonstration. The sensation drew out a shocked and somewhat confused gasp from the teen as his body shuddered in arousal to the sweet burning sensation of being sucked. He panted, holding back a groan. 

“...and there’s enacting violence on another. I don't really care to be _violent_ toward you.”

“But you—you’re saying y-you could be? Aw jeez, Reverend, th-that’s not really a straight—”

The Rick returned his hands to Morty’s thighs, slowing down the pace. 

_“Violentia_ ...is to _transgress_ a boundary by wielding one's power, ‘n’while God’s nature is inherently transgressive, Morty, _abuse_ of power...a _violation,_ doesn’t need to be a part of that transgression. I prefer exchanges.”

“So y-you don't get...mad?”

“I experience rage, and every other emotion that exists on that human spectrum, but...as above, so below. I try’n exploit them where they best serve me… A tempered control of the rational and irrational. Body _and_ mind. Man _and_ beast. Unlike _Our Grandfather,_ I don't fear my own potential to transform, create, or destroy.”

“Do you want…” Morty began, but trailed in uncertainty, he returned his gaze to the reverend and bit his lip in a moment of self-doubt.

“Do you want to know those things in me? B-body and mind?”

A smile wickedly spread across the reverend's expression as his large hands tightened around the swell of the teen's thighs, and he dragged Morty’s body across the short length of the bench, closer to him.

“I’m a reverend, my clever, little lamb. A secular, collar-bound servant to my faith, offering the hand of guidance.” Reverend Rick leaned forward and rattled his tongue with excitement against Morty's ear, “You asked me to show you how to sin, and I wanna see the expression of your liberated face, _overcome_ with the ecstasy of empowerment as you taste the sweetness of _both_ trees.”

The reverend shifted, pressing the hard line of his erection against the younger's, igniting a rush of sensation across the teen’s body, leaving him in shivers. His eyes flicked dangerously between the two realms of Morty's eyes and he grinned as the boy sucked in a stabilizing breath, nodding in understanding.

“K-Kiss me.” Morty sighed, closing his eyes, and lifted his chin expectantly. The priest's motions stilled.

“Want me to reveal a secret of this universe, baby?”

Morty was expecting an abrasive kiss to devour him the second he offered his lips to the reverend, but instead, a thumb moved behind Morty's ear, caressing the sensitive slip of skin as his fingers wove into the locks of the boy's hair. An open palm cradled the teen as he drew their lips together in a careful discovery of flesh, before pulling slightly away to gauge Morty’s reaction. After a quiet moment of connection, the priest returned to him.

Heavy breaths fell against the hot flesh as he eased Morty's pair of lips open, and with a sumptuous sigh, the teen released the breath he was unaware that he’d been holding. A furious blush ignited with lust across the swell of his cheeks, and the Reverend pressed their lips together with more pressure, and Morty's heart flickered as he brushed against the Rick’s existence without being burnt.

“Kissing… It’s a uniquely human experience.” The minister's breath whispered in pants as he intimately kissed the delicate membrane of skin over each of Morty’s eyes, “Most intergalactic life forms don't have this.”

As they pulled away a second time, Morty chased the reverend’s mouth into another overeager kiss. Their teeth clacked together, producing a small cut on the teen’s lip, and he quickly jerked away at the sudden pain. 

“Ow! Sorry—”

The reverend groaned against him and splayed a hand against Morty’s bare chest. He batted the cross away, and buried himself into the teen’s collar of flesh and bone, kissing it with bruising force as he cupped the hardening bulge in Morty’s trousers. They had begun to leak through, and the teen shuddered into the touch with a moan.

“Reverend!” His voice pleaded with growing intensity, “K-kiss me! D-down there! Make me feel good. I wanna feel good.”

A second hand slipped beneath the fabric of Morty’s shirt as lips traveled toward his nipple. The teen writhed against him in soft pants before his breath transformed into eager, stifled gasps. He moaned and held fast to the reverend’s large cross, as the priest unfastened the clasp to the teen’s trousers, and slid hands beneath the hemline, working the fabric down to the curve of his ass.

"Naughty, wayward, lamb."

Suddenly, The reverend groped the acolyte's flesh with enough force that the teen was lifted from the bench. He let out a vocal moan before cutting it short at the remembered semi-public location. The priest's hand circled the bare cheeks drawing attention to the lack of undergarments.

“Coming to confess your sins without your modestly...inviting the devil inside of you.”

Morty whimpered as the reverend worked the trousers to the teen’s ankles, and continued to lift his body, pinning the boy against the wall as he hoisted the teen’s leg over his shoulder. The teen held his breath at the realization that he was completely stuck in the position, but he had strayed too far into his arousal to care and fisted the priest's hair in encouragement. The reverend teasingly dipped his head against the inside of the teen’s thigh, breathing hot air over Morty’s leaking erection. His knees trembled beside him at the slightest hint of teasing stubble. 

“Reverend...Oh my Rick!”

“That's not my name in here, baby. I’m your Rick right now, but I want those delicious fucking lips to sing my name in exalted praise.” 

“Oh my God! Oh _God!”_

“ _Fuck,_ that’s right, little lamb." He rewarded the praise by mouthing at the inner muscle of his thigh, "You’re gonna worship me.”

Morty whined in lustful frustration and the priest flicked his tongue against the base of his erection, staring up at the teen with eyes on fire as he planted a reverent kiss at its base. His palm smoothed across the outer line of Morty’s thigh, before rounding to cup the flesh of his balls as he held the squirming body still.

He continued to press a lingering kiss against Morty’s erection as his finger traveled to press itself against the teen’s entrance. Morty’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his mouth fell breathlessly open. His body jumped, suddenly overwhelmed with sensory pleasure.

“Oh God, I’m— ”

He messily came, shaking against the intimate walls of the confessional booth as his semen spilled across the sacred curtains and over the reverend’s crisp black clothing. The reverend hummed against the teen’s twitching flesh, holding still the lingering spasms, and lowered Morty, returning him to the seat of the bench. With care, he unraveled himself from the tangle of limbs and rose to face the teen at eye level. Morty panted out broken apologies while trying to catch his breath. 

“Oh jeez…Oh my Rick. I’m sorry I- I didn’t mean to—”

The priest swallowed Morty's gasping words with another kiss, pinning him hard against the wall, and groaned as his tongue slithered inside of the teen's body. Morty melted into the sudden, suffocating contact that tasted of fire, and in the daze of his afterglow, he weakly opened his mouth to accommodate the writhing thrusts of the priest's tongue. The reverend sucked and devoured his flesh as if the boy tasted like the sweetest fruit in the universe.

He mewled at the consuming attention, but after a heated moment, the reverend withdrew himself from Morty, regaining his composure, and continued to softly bring the teen down with a series of controlled, chaste kisses against his neck and collarbone.

Aware that he was still tightly clutching onto the reverend’s cross, Morty released it, before returning his own hands to thread through the reverend’s hair. In response, the priest slightly thrust his hips against his body. Their lips met once more and the teen reached between them, toward the golden clasp of the priest’s cloth with his heart pounding in this chest. A large hand intervened and folded around Morty's. The priest pressed a thumb into the teen's palm. 

“You don't have to...this can be a one-way thing if you want. I can get enough out of just watching you come undone like that.”

“No.” Morty blushed as the grip tightened around his hand “I want... I wanna make you feel good too.”

Accepting the teen's administered agency without challenge, the reverend nodded, releasing his grip. Hesitantly, Morty palmed the fabric over the priest’s stiff erection, who hummed at the contact and cursed in pleasure. The hard flesh jerked beneath the teen's touch and at the sight of Reverend Rick unapologetically indulging in the pleasure Morty was bringing him, he felt powerful. Wanting more, he moved to slip his fingers beneath the hemline of the reverend’s pants, following the trail of hairs toward the warm swell of flesh.

The older man assisted the teen, releasing the clasp of his trousers before pushing the obsidian fabric away. He let out an unapologetic groan as Morty’s hand wrapped around his length just below the head to discover the priest's foreskin skin was soft as silk. It easily slipped over the tip of his shaft, and the teen sheepishly tugged at it, tightening his grip at Reverend Rick's sudden emitted sound of pleasure.

“Is...uh, is this okay? It’s not like… Aw Jeez.” Morty trailed, not knowing how to ask about the reverend’s erection, which he had discovered, was different from his own.

“It’s an uncut devil peen. S’got a bit more skin in the game… Fuck, thats perfect...just like that, baby. You're taking good care of me.”

Reverend Rick’s erection was much larger than his own, and Morty found himself struggling to repeat the movements that had worked for himself. He could barely wrap his fingers around the base of the priest, and his hand’s were quickly tiring. 

The reverend pressed his weight into Morty, sliding their cheeks together with a pleasured sigh as he began to assist, offering a small thrusting motion into the shape of his hand as he pressed the blunt tip of his erection against Morty's exposed navel, wetting it with desire. Their bodies flushed together, and Morty felt his own erection stirring back to life at the priest’s motions. He joined the pleasured panting and thrust his hips forward to meet him, searching for contact.

Their erections brushed against one another, and the priest’s eyes flicked open. His thrusting motions stilled, and he grabbed Morty at the hips to rock his body to the edge of the bench tightly against his. Morty shuddered in overstimulated pleasure when their ball sacks kissed, and his lips pressed against the reverend’s Adam's apple, grazing it with his teeth. The sharp taste of sweat lingered on his senses, and he felt dizzy.

The priest's large hand smoothed over the teen's hips and caressed the curve of his ass before pausing to reach below the confessional seat to reveal a vial of oil. The teen gasped and held his breath as the elder reached for Morty’s hand, and drizzled a generous amount of it into his open palm.

“That’s—This is blessed oil!”

“We're gonna bless this moment...worthy of veneration.”

Reverend Rick willed their hips together once again, and lined their erections to the sound of Morty’s stifled moan, before guiding the teen's slick fingers to wrap around their erect shafts. He folded his own fingers over the younger’s, helping him set an unhurried pace as they pulsed against each other in pleasure.

The priest let out a satisfying hiss, and Morty bit his lip at the sensation of his own hands being maneuvered by the Reverend’s. The priest’s erection felt so much larger than his own, and their hands were similarly different in size as they stroked each other.

With his free hand, Morty caught the reverend's dangling cross from the air and brought the large piece of metal to his lips, causing the older man’s pace to quicken as he released a heady groan into the teen’s crown, before planting an equally reverent kiss.

“Fuck. Keep stroking my ego like that, little lamb, and I’m gonna need to take a bite out of you.”

“Ohhh my God. Mmm yeah, I want you to—hnnng!” 

Morty hummed and nodded, drunk to the sensations of his flesh as he collapsed his forehead into the reverend’s shoulder. His body began to shake and spasm, building towards another climax, but as his grip slackened around their erections the reverend constricted his own fingers around Morty’s hand and continued to bring them toward release.

“Y-you close, little lamb?”

Morty nodded, moaning the reverend’s name in response, before quickly biting into the rich fabric of the priest's shoulder to stifle the loudest of his confessional cries. The priest mimicked the teen, kissing the unmarked skin at the hollow of his neck, before biting sharply into the ripe swell of flesh.

Morty’s teeth clenched at the sudden physical manifestation of his self-preservation mechanisms, which sharply seared across his senses. He groaned with his entire body, jerking against the reverend as he spilled his seed a second time, and the pain faded into a burning ache. The reverend followed him, sinfully groaning in his ear, and overwhelming Morty’s senses, as hot ropes of his release coated the teen’s stomach and anointed their hands.

The reverend pressed their foreheads together, and panting, held Morty’s illuminated eyes of stained glass. His irises exploded, dilating in response to the beatific vision, and his lips parted in silent exalted praise. The priest brought the teen down with the expert touch of gentle delicate pumps and confessed.

“He’ll never make you come like this.”

_Thou shalt not covet another's Morty._

In a post-orgasmic daze, Morty nodded into the Ricks flesh, sighing in acquiescence.

“Yeah...I know.”

Reverend Rick hissed at the honest response and pulled the teen into another envious kiss.

They both knew.

_Thou shalt not covet another's Rick._

***

_Lumen vobiscum gratia infinita..._

Although he had shown up on time, Morty caught his mind wandering during mass as he watched the distant robed figure leading the service. Grandfather Rick’s words of song, once so comforting and familiar had become alien to him.

They remained unchanged, however, leaving Morty to consider that the only change which had truly occurred, had been within himself, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. 

Maybe his struggle with sin was a part of having faith.

Maybe existence was inherently painful, regardless.

Since his sexual interlude with Reverend Rick in the confessional, Morty's plan of wearing his sin, unapologetically, and with pride, had been completely undermined by a single stripping gaze of stone directed toward him during mass. The pair of piercing blue eyes cut through the cathedra with clairvoyance, and when they fell on Morty, the grandfather's gaze lingered, all-knowing and silent. The teen had been unable to honestly face him, since.

“Morty, G4, my son.” Morty nervously swallowed, as Grandfather Rick called after him by _dimensional ID_ following the service. “Your company would bring me great pleasure as I make rounds this afternoon. Please, join me.”

Grandfather Rick looked at Morty as if something between them had changed, and Morty swallowed, remembering when his original grandfather looked at him like that too. The teen bit his lip and nodded in silence. He bowed his head in respect, understanding that all of this had been too good to truly last forever. He grit his teeth, staring at the stone floor as he walked, preparing for the worst. _He had been called by dimensional ID,_ and walking beside the presence of the bishop's cold shoulder, Morty stewed in the shame and forthcoming consequences of his sins.

He should have never confessed to Grandfather Rick.

Maybe it would have been better if he had pretended such feelings didn’t exist.

With his staff, the pastor herded Morty alongside him as they made their rounds through the monastery, fulfilling the grandfather's routine clerical duties.

All Ricks of cloth were silent in their meditative reflections as they carried out their daily tasks, and in the Church of the Infinite Rick, their silence was something that almost always unnerved Morty, and left him on edge. He'd always equated a Ricks silence with rumination. A Rick who was lost within their own thoughts.

With Grandfather Rick, however, it had always been different. Instead, the silence had been full. It was comfortable and allowed the pair a meditative awareness of each other. They indulged in the fleeting moment of existence shared between them, and when either spoke, the transient space was only enriched.

That once peaceful silence was now empty. Weighted with unspoken thoughts and tensions that created a vacuous distance between the pair as they walked inches from one another around the quadrilateral walls of the cloister.

As much as Morty’s heart yearned to be in Grandfather Rick's presence, and to be given such intimate attention, he could no longer enjoy the elder’s unrequited affections for him. It was too much to bear.

Like an open wound, his heart wept with every loving interaction, and each time, it left a dull ache in the teen’s chest. It was easier for Morty to ignore Grandfather Rick, than feel his heart slowly turning to stone alongside him. Growing cold and hard so that he would no longer have to feel it burn in his presence.

Grandfather Rick paused to commune with a clerical charge in the hallway, and distracted by the cold air, Morty’s eyes drifted through the petal-tipped archways of stone. Snow softly fluttered into the paradise garden, much lighter than it had been for the past several days, and when the shepherd took notice of Morty staring after it, he parted company with the fellow clergyman, and broke from his path of marble, stepping out into the courtyard. The shape of his feet imprinted into the untouched snow as his robes trailed behind him. In silence, Morty bowed his head and dutifully followed.

With his robed forearm, the pastor brushed the snow from the surface of the garden’s stone bench and took a seat, offering a warm but distant smile to Morty as he rest his staff against it. The teen stood with uncertainty until the elder gestured a commanding hand toward the empty space beside him in invitation. He nervously bit his cheek, shifting in place before lowering himself next to the grandfather, thankful that they did not have to face each other. 

“It is understandable, though regrettable that the snow is not enjoyable to you, my son.” Grandfather Rick spoke first, breaking their silence. He reached his hand in front of him, to catch a petal of gently falling virginal snow.

“It is the same snow that caused you much suffering, that I reflect on as the advent which changed the course of my existence.” 

Morty resisted the urge to turn his face toward Grandfather Rick at the words. A hard expression would cause Morty to feel guilt and shame, but if the grandfather looked at him with any other emotion, the weight of it would crush their fragile, unspoken moment.

 _“Thou art stardust, and unto stardust thou shalt return.”_ The pastoral Rick quoted scripture, continuing to share his usually quiet meditations with the teen, “That evening, I was seeking my final journey into the void. Instead, I found you, and was inspired to act better than the Rick I believed myself to be. Your light, allowed me the capacity to find hope in my darkest hour.”

The grandfather tilted his head to glance in Morty's direction, and the teen stared blankly at the snow, refusing him. “Forgive me, My son, for my earlier display of irrationality. Your sins, like mine, should only ever be between you and your higher self.”

Morty bit his tongue, hard, and continued to hold his silence. His throat constricted, and he lifted his gaze to stare above them into the dusty winterized sky. A ring of ice and snow had caught in the light, haloing the edge of rounded glass. Even against the white abyss, faint constellations of stars glimmered with impersonal guidance.

Ripples of heat escaped from the stone archways, melting the snow. It slid from the surrounding tree branches in thick clumps. The living structures, unused to the sudden change in weather, groaned in the release of their burden. Birds sang sweetly around them with the same joyous exaltation of Grandfather Rick’s hymns.

“I... I didn’t know...” Morty began, struggling to consider the weight of the grandfather’s words. “...I didn’t know. Birds. That they existed on the Citadel. Not until I arrived here. In the Church.”

He didn’t _know_ that such a good Rick could exist. At hearing the pastor's earnest apology, Morty immediately despised how selfish he had been to want to see him fall. He clutched his earlier resentment in secret, unable to let it go. Grandfather Rick hummed in acknowledgment of his defensive small talk, and Morty fisted the fabric over his legs until his knuckles turned white in guilt and apprehension.

“Although this garden too is a cage, they recognize it as their home, and faithfully return.” 

Morty returned his gaze to the ground, convinced that Grandfather Rick somehow knew every detail about his sins with the reverend, and was merely waiting for the teen to confess. The figurehead of the Church needed a reason to justify telling Morty that such a sinner could never again be seen in his presence.

He clenched his eyes shut in anxious panic, hanging his head as he braced himself for another, deserving exile. He bit his lip, and his body expectantly shivered against the frigid snow he would have no choice but to return to.

Instead, a heavy piece of fabric fell over his shoulders, and Morty opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in the grandfather’s robes. He delicately touched the fabric with his fingertips, and his lips quivered at the truly undeserved kindness from the shepherd. He breathed in choppy breaths, catching the aged scent of incense, soap and the Rick who had always felt like home to him.

It wrapped him in the cherished memory of their first night together. The moment of nostalgia suddenly felt so far away, and indescribable grief fell over Morty as they sat together in silence for another empty, yet voluminous pause. He bunched the fabric over the open wounds of his heart.

“My son, how are you?” The grandfather shifted toward him, “You have been struggling to pay attention in Church...and you’ve declined communion multiple times.”

Morty flushed, feeling his ears burn as he further pulled the fabric around his frame. He avoided the grandfather’s gaze, and chewed his lip in deliberation, before attempting to speak honestly about his struggles without naming them.

“Aw jeez,” his fragile voice confessed with trembling and fear. “Well... I uh don’t...I don’t really know. Grandfather. There have been a few… Distractions. From my path. I-It’s just been hard to find time to… reflect on them. I guess.”

A sonorous sound fell from the grandfather’s body, and the elder bowed his head.

“Forgive me, my son,” The statuesque hands folded over the grandfather's lap in a near imperceptible emotion, “I have failed you.”

“No! That’s not—” 

“—I am your shepherd. It is my duty to lead you _from_ the darkness of the void.”

“But It was my choice!” Morty blurted out, unable to bear the idea of Grandfather Rick taking on the additional burden of _his_ sins. The cloth weighted around the teen’s shoulders, reminding Morty that he owed _everything_ to the literal savior beside him. Grandfather Rick had risked his vows to welcome Morty into the church’s arms. He had clothed him, fed him, and given the homeless youth a second chance at life, asking only for Morty’s faith in turn. 

Morty had let him down. It was his fault. The teen refused the grandfather’s apology, unwilling to hear it.

“It was _my_ sin!”

Grandfather Rick did not deny Morty but selectively listened to his words.

“I must also accept the consequences. Allowing you to have witnessed me...to follow me on such a _deviated path into sin._ ”

Grandfather Rick lifted his pale hand to Morty’s chin, and with a featherlight touch, delicately lifted the teen’s flesh, silently examining the cut on his lip.

“Your lip—” He further tilted Morty’s chin with a gentle pull. Searching.

“I-It’s nothing!” Morty’s face burned in humiliation, and suddenly unable to name his sin, he denied its existence before his God, afraid. His eyes clenched shut, avoiding the grandfather's knowing gaze once again.

The elder's fingertips hesitantly traveled toward the buttons on Morty’s shirt, and hovered for a brief moment, before withdrawing himself, curling each finger back into his palm, as Morty bit his lip in deliberation, needing Grandfather Rick to see all of him, even if it meant forever being forsaken by him.

“It’s...I’ll show you. Okay? I-I’ll show you my sin.”

Morty unfastened the top few buttons around his neck, and his multicolored eyes fled from the shepherd as he pulled the fabric away to reveal a dark mottled bruise staining the hollow of his neck. Reticent as the surrounding structures of faith, Grandfather Rick's motions froze in witness to the mark of a beast.

“Morty... Oh, My son.”

The shepherd turned his gaze, willing the image away, and the teen quickly and shamefully returned the fabric to his neck, anchoring the cross in place over his heart. Grandfather Rick spoke in a near-murmer as if he were confessing to himself, rather than the teen.

“Rick E-32 is very lost. My son, he has led _so many_ Ricks and Mortys astray.”

Morty’s gaze returned to the ground as Grandfather Rick gently chastised him, feeling again like he had done something unforgivable at seeing the pained expression on the elder's face. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused them. 

“But I'm already a stray,” he quietly confessed the sins of his existence, “that's all I've ever been here.”

The bishop turned and taking Morty’s hands in his, and pressed his wooden beaded rosary into his palms, folding them together. With an urgent push, the grandfather securely pressed the gift, into the teen’s chest, and in recognition of the Rick’s most valuable position, Morty lifted his gaze in a mixture of awe, shock, and confusion.

“Regardless of how far you choose to wander into the void, my arms will always await your return. I will always welcome you home.”

For the first time since their conversation began, they gazed into each other’s eyes. The silence between them filled with the ministrations that had been absent. Grandfather Rick’s unmoving azurite eyes held him with a love as endless as the cosmos, and in the wake of his all-consuming gaze, Morty was left ruined. Tears began to freely spill from his being.

“We all give into sin, my son,” Grandfather Rick’s empathetic fingers tightened into an urgent unmoving grip, clutching Morty's wrists, as he silently beckoned him, “but your worth is _so much._ Don’t freely give yourself away to a Rick such as him.”

His grip tightened into weighted restraints of flesh, and Morty flinched in pain against their crushing pressure. He tried to pull away as the shepherd continued, unaware of the pressure he was exerting. 

“A Rick who doesn't know how valuable you are. You must remain vigilant so that you are not deceived. Many will come in my name, claiming I am he. Do not follow them.”

“Th-that hurts! Grandfather Rick!?” 

The grandfather’s hands suddenly loosened and returned to clutch the beads still wrapped in Morty’s fingers. He offered a reassuring, apologetic squeeze as his thumb indulgently, and affectionately caressed the teen’s skin.

“My thoughts and prayers will be with you.”

He lifted Morty's fingers to his lips and kissed his flesh with absolute reverence, as if the sinner was still invaluable to him, contradicting his earlier words.

Confused, the teen withdrew shaky hands, clutching them into his chest and suddenly rose from the bench.

“F-forgive me, g-grandfather Rick!”

He turned and ran, dropping the grandfather’s cloak into the snow as he fled from the shepherd's grace.

***

The supper bells distantly rang as Reverend Rick glanced up to take in his inverted world. He had contorted himself into the library's window seat, and his head hung, upside down, over the ledge. An open black book rest against his chest as he mentally noted another word for his lamb. 

_Signum._ The signaling ring of the church bells.

Controlling one’s sense of time was the key ritual of any practice worth its faith. Parishioners practicing protocol to prepare themselves for purposeful worship; seeking domination, as a way to simplify the tempestuous storm of their chaotic existence—Seeking the hand of God, to provide structure, order, and meaning in a universe void of it.

He supposed a God that did not manifest itself in reality, was indistinguishable from one who did not exist, and _Deus ex Machina_ was life on the Citadel, creating itself _ad infinitum._

He uncoiled his body, righting himself with a languid stretch, and glanced through the invisible threshold of his world, gazing into the abyss beyond.

Trapped in the Citadel's curving arc of glass, the dispersed ice crystals caught the light of the artificial sunset, refracting into a phenomenal atmospheric halo, iridescently searing it's way through the evening sky— on fire, where the anti-crepuscular beams of light caught against the glass, and the ignited, ominous glow, burned like the ring of an ethereal portal, effulgently opening an otherworldly gateway to the glimmering twilight of stars.

Reverend Rick contemplated the vision of cosmic revelation, before returning his downcast gaze to the mythic pages of his own spiritual escapism.

He licked his finger and turned the page.

The unexpected sound of motion caught his senses, and his head snapped toward the manifestation of his little lamb, nervously pacing around the library with an ashen expression. He drifted through the empty spaces, searching between the bookshelves for signs of life, before treading lightly toward the priest like a traitor fleeing into the exile of a setting sun. Reverend Rick smirked and lowered the square spectacles from his eyes with a flirtatious tease.

“Genuine surprise to see you here. Are you lost little lamb?”

Morty held his silence. With his head bowed in a fearful reverence, he pressed himself into the contact of the priest's existence as arms stiffly hung at his side. He buried his forehead into the seated man's shoulder and his body began to wreak itself with inconsolable, shuddering sobs.

“Who harmed you?” The priest’s words rolled from his tongue, ringing like the ominous, rumbling sound of thunder.

In silence, the teen wept. 

Reverend Rick set his spectacles and book aside, and motioned to wrap his arms around the stray lamb, but as he began to pull Morty’s body close, the teen flinched, lifting a fist between them to maintain an intentional distance.

The priest frowned at the sudden inversion of personality, and cupped the teen’s face in his hands, pulling away to more fully study the boy’s sobbing expression. Morty lifted his lurid gaze to meet him, and the revelating vision of his chimera gaze drew the breath from the reverend's lungs.

His existence fell quiet, as he witnessed the iridescent halos refracting in Morty's illuminated eyes; the embodiment of divinity and humanity, as the small oracle offered his tears into the void between.

“I’m sorry!” Morty bellowed the apology through a fresh wave heaving sobs. “I know it's not confession. But I didn’t. I didn’t know wh-where else to...”

If not for the unknowable circumstances of their causation, and the teen’s insistent gesture of refusal, the reverend would have sought to lose himself worshiping the divine medium. He would have pressed his lips to the libation of the boy’s tears as if he were dying of thirst. Instead, he licked his parched lips and waited for the phenomenon to pass, allowing his ignited arousal to burn into a sense of indignation toward whoever dared to fuck with his stray lamb. 

As Morty pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes, the reverend caught a glimpse of Grandfather Rick’s wooden rosary, peeking out of the teen’s clenched and shaking fist. Beneath the righteous statement piece, a series of red fingerprints threateningly wrapped like lines of bloodstained scripture, around the boy's wrist.

The incendiary rage quietly consumed the Reverend, and he stilled, unable to look away from the shape of the grandfather’s virtuous wrath.

“Y-you sinned with other Mortys!?”

Suddenly, the teen’s jumble of emotions filtered through a single, irrelevant accusation, and the reverend released his breath in a calculating hiss, placing both hands on Morty’s shoulders to caress soothing thumbs over the virginal white fabric.

“Gonna take an educated guess where _those_ stones are coming from. Yeah, I sinned with Mortys. _And_ Ricks. _Including_ Grandfather Rick.” He added onto his statement, sensing the next question on the tip of the teen's tongue. “And _No._ The last Morty I fucked around with left the Church ages ago—” 

“—They had to leave the church! Oh my Rick! _Oh My Rick!_ ” Morty sobbed harder at the answer, “Do you just think you can do anything!”

“Yes, but —No! Morty! Jeezus, calm down. J-just relax. Not like that!” The reverend caught the teen’s flailing hands and hastily corrected him, rubbing small circles with the tip of his thumb over the red welts, inspecting them as he resisted the temptation to rip the cursed beads away from him.

With a controlled intake of breath, the priest resisted. He knew the value of the beads to the grandfather who had parted with them, and how meaningful it was by proxy to the teen. Morty clutched them to his chest as if they were the single fixed point in his universe. Reverend Rick sighed.

“It wasn’t by some excommunication or exile." He admitted, "They left by choice.”

“But then… Why— Y-you didn't go with.” Morty pulled his wrists away from the reverend’s comforting touch, suddenly suspicious of the priest’s ulterior motives. Reverend Rick’s frown deepened as he hooked a finger under his collar, giving the white square a tug in an unapologetic display. He cleared his throat with a deliberate, warning rattle.

“Yeah, this Citadel clerical collar isn’t exactly figurative, Morty. I’m a priest of the secular order—Apparently, with a calling to the sins of _Our Grandfather’s_ flesh.” He spat with unflinching honesty and narrowed his eyes to leer as his chin fell low.

“It’s a sign _of possession._ Ownership. I’m here serving time on Citadel assignment, unlike our _favorite_ shriveled dick who is _so benevolently_ concerned about your path... or whatever dogmatic shit he’s indoctrinated you with this Sunday.”

“H-he told me you're lost! Th-that I should be afraid of you!”

“Yeah! And I'd rather _stay_ lost than never go searching! A-and maybe you _should_ be afraid of me, little lamb, ‘cause I'm not gonna be the one trying to shelter you from the void!”

Although he was disappointed in Grandfather Rick for trying to hide his true intentions behind the usual bullshit virtue signaling, he wasn't pleased with their lamb, who in a moment of confronted guilt, had begun to question the Reverend’s intentions, even after the priest had intentionally spelled them out for the teen. Morty’s tears ebbed as clarity slowly returned to him. Still slightly confused, he avoided the reverend’s gaze.

“So y-you weren’t trying to—to lead me astray?” He hiccuped.

“I was _trying_ to get you out of that planetary mindset! It’s an ever-expanding multiverse out there, Morty, but you’re the one who's gonna have to take the leap of faith into it.”

He cupped Morty’s cheek and smeared the tears across his flesh.

“I wanted you to come to your own conclusions about Grandfather Rick instead of blindly following him. As for stirring the fire in his shriveled coals— Well, you wholeheartedly took that leap of faith with me.”

“That’s not! I-I didn’t want him to be! I wasn’t—”

“—No, no no, Morty,” The reverend’s shushed as his hands lashed forward and wrapped around the teen’s. He laced them together around the wooden rosary with an intentional featherlight touch.

“You’re in this sin with me. You knew _exactly_ what you were doing playing with these matches, baby.”

The reverend brought their interlocked fingers to his lips, kissing the flesh and beads. “I got to take a bite out of you first. And _now_ , he’s passive-aggressively high-roading you with a _good-old-fashioned-guilt-trip._ Why? Because he can’t give into what _he_ really wants. So instead, he’s sending you back to me, guilt-wrapped in this _delicious_ warning, staking his claim.” The reverend smirked, licked at the row of the teen’s fingers and the grandfather’s beads.

“But now that I’ve got a taste of you, _Brother Morty,_ I’m not gonna let you go so easily.”

Reverend Rick withdrew himself, searching for his flask. He took an indulgent sip to wash the taste away as he fumed at the beaded rosary in Morty’s grasp. A cocktail of emotions flared anew in his chest, and his eyes flicked back to the damage on Morty’s skin. He chased the gesture with another shot, as a mixture of protectiveness and possessiveness dangerously stirred.

He reached out, and plucked Morty from the space in front of him, pulling the teen down onto his lap with a spin. Morty’s body stiffened against the reverend as the priest’s arms snaked around his torso. He pressed his cheek against the flesh of the boy's neck, before gently gnawing over the fabric at the scripture he had earlier written so reverently onto his skin.

He hid himself from the teen's gaze, not wanting Morty's multifaceted eyes to see the ravenous look of starvation enviously igniting in his eyes.

“Right now, Grandfather Rick is preaching sin louder than love, little lamb, but it wasn’t the serpent that caused man to realize their nakedness...”

He whispered a sermon and continued to pull the wool from Morty’s eyes in ministry. Hands darted to Morty’s thighs and firmly groped with the intentional invocation of past sins, inspiring a guarded sigh of pleasure from the acolyte’s breath. The Reverend coiled his fingers around the teen's hips and covetously writhed beneath the heat of the teen's body, calling him back into his domain.

“...only the knowledge of how enjoyable it was to experience the flesh.”

Morty shifted on the priest's lap, melting into the powerful, commanding touch. Conflicted, he confessed his darkest sin with a soft pant. 

“I love him, Reverend!” The Rick reached around and tilted the teen's chin to bite at the boy's mangled lip, before kissing his puffy red cheeks. He licked at the swelling below his lamb's amber eye with a low, rattling growl that escaped from his body with another upward thrust. 

Morty faithfully clutched onto the rosary but rose his hands into the air to reach behind himself, wrapping around the Reverend's neck, and threaded his delicate beaded fingers through the minister's hair. _He wanted so much to give in._

He pushed back against the older man's chest, and the priest grinned into the flesh of the boy's temple, rewarding him with a hand over the teen’s clothed erection. Morty gasped, but his body tensed in uncertainty. 

“He. He doesn't want me to—”

"I don't care what _he wants_ right now."

The Reverend hissed and caressed his thumb over the teen's luscious swell, eliciting a delightfully responsive full body tremble, and Morty moaned into the warmth of the reverend's neck, as his mind struggled in dissonance against the mounting, lust of his flesh. Reverend Rick felt himself regain a sense of control.

“Tell me what _you_ want.” 

“It’s too selfish. I’m too selfish! To want him in this way! Like this—Hnnngg—to want him to do. Something like this,” He panted, “want him to do this—”

“—Have faith, my original sinner, you don't need to say it. You don't need to be loud for God to hear you.” fingers tightly coiled around the teen's waist, as the priest insistently continued to grind the shape of his envy against the inviting swell of Morty’s ass.

“Through you, all things are possible.”

Grandfather Rick would crush Morty with guilt before he would confess his existing mutual attraction to the teen. Reverend Rick breathed heavy against the oracle’s ear, full of promise.

“Do you trust me, little lamb?” 

“I dunno, maybe.” Morty moaned into another rewarding grope of flesh. “Maybe a little more than I should.”

The Reverend hissed as his muscles tightened and coiled with the need of release. The priest slid his lips against Morty’s, and slithered finger’s into the hemline of his clothing, shedding the layer of fabric with a sense of possessive urgency.

“I’m gonna give him to you, little lamb. I'm gonna give you what you want. We’re gonna save you for him—Let him claim the last of your virtue. But right now, I wanna—I want another taste of that delicious fucking sin of yours. Wanna‘nother taste of you.”

Beneath the layers of fabric, Morty’s erection twitched in response to the hysteric words. The reverend wrapped himself around the teen, grazing a tongue against the back of his salty neck, allowing the Morty writhe beneath the unmoving touch of his hand. He settled it over the fabric of the teen's wet undergarments and rolled his hips up into Morty's with a firm downward press of his palm.

“Let me taste you, baby.”

Morty moaned into the calculated press of flesh, and nodded, accepting the bargain.

“Taste of me…Ju-just a taste. N-no more bites.”

The Reverend slipped the fabric down toward Morty’s thighs, before reaching to the clasp of his own pants and when the teen felt the freed erection pressing without restraint against the fabric of his undergarments, Morty froze, aware of the public space they were in. Reverend Rick hummed into the feeling of the teen's thighs clenching against him in caution.

“All the good little lambs are eating supper, Brother Morty… but you’re not satisfied with bread alone.” 

The reverend’s dick twitched against him, and Morty bit his lip, trying to remain quiet as the priest returned to kissing the teen’s neck, suggestively slotting himself into the clothed dip of the teen's ass, relishing in the boy’s lustful movements against the thin layer of fabric between them, both frustrated by its presence.

The reverend pinched a nipple over its pristine surface, and the Morty jerked against the reverend's hardened erection, before grinding himself against the length. He found the minister’s hand and silently guided it beneath the final slip of his fabric.

“Y-you like that, baby?" Reverend Rick teased, slithering his hands over the bare skin of the teen's writhing waist. "You like feeling my flesh move against yours, imagining it’s his, having his way with you?”

He lifted the teen upwards and thrust himself between Morty’s legs, grazing the flesh of his balls as a gorgeous, moan spilled like an exultant hymn from the oracle's lips. Morty’s entire torso bowed forward in the presence of such an overwhelming sensation, and the teen fell into a trance of shameless lustful worship. The reverend’s hands retreated to smooth the fabric of Morty's back, before slipping beneath his shirt to press warm hands against the texture of his flesh and bone. He gazed upon the teen's worship and whispered temptations of praise. 

“You’re perfect, Morty. So worthy of him. I wanna bring my little lamb closer to God.” The teen returned himself to the reverend's chest and tossed his head back into him with a shameful whimpering nod. The priest barred a forearm across his chest and caught Morty’s chin, lifting it to expose his neck to him. He tasted it in demonstration, thrusting his erection into the space between the acolyte’s taut thighs.

“You want Grandfather Rick to claim you like this? To claim you in the flesh? Make you his chosen vessel?”

Morty's breath hitched with an audible gasp at the suggestion, and the reverend continued to graze pleasure from the friction of the boy's body. He watched the teen's eyes flutter to a close in vision, and Reverend Rick knew it wasn’t the secular priest who Morty imagined as he felt the Rick’s erection moving between his legs.

Morty would never offer himself to the reverend in the same way he would sacrifice himself to Grandfather Rick. Knowing, still didn’t stop the reverend from desiring it.

“Wanna feel his presence moving inside of you?”

The teen arched into his flesh with another sultry sound, and the reverend grinned. He alone was drawing out such salacious sounds from the lamb’s flesh. He loosened his grip, as Morty sank deeper into his imaginations. He began to move against him, meeting his thrusts as he searched for completion. 

“Say his name.”

“G-Grandfather Rick.” Morty sighed, indulging in their mutual fantasy, and his hand fisted into the threads of blue hair at the permission. The muscles of his thighs clenched around him, and the reverend cursed with a vicarious groan at the thought of Morty offering himself with such unequivocal submission.

His erection hardened between his legs as it drooled with envy. He shared the teen’s vision and slithered fingers beneath the boy’s undergarments to push the modest slip of remaining fabric away. His fingers coiled around Morty’s naked hips as he cursed into the erratic rhythm of their skin to skin contact.

He pressed a kiss against his ear, whispering temptation.

“My Son.”

“Grandfather!”

A lewd moan chanted in ecstasy, as the Rick called to him, and Morty's hand released itself from the tangle of hair to take his bouncing erection in hand and touched himself. His breath caught between waves of shuddering pleasure, as the pair of bodies sharply slapped their skin against one another, climaxes mounting. The teen groaned with each bodily thrust against him.

“I’m gonn—come on me. I wanna feel it on me! I wanna taste you too!”

Morty’s thighs stuttered and clenched as he came, covering his release with a thumb to contain its spill, and the reverend bit the fingers of his own flesh as he followed, thrusting himself between Morty's flesh a few more times before releasing himself with an ecstatic, heady groan.

He bowed his head into the nape of the teen's neck, and without a moment of hesitation, the teen reached between them, spreading their release against the skin of his thighs and genitals, before bringing messy fingertips to his lips to suckle the sweetness with a satisfied sigh.

“Little Lamb…” The reverend sighed a pleased chuckle, “you’re such a filthy little sinner... so much more than I ever could've imagined.”

Reverend Rick was going to enjoy how needy this Morty was.

Morty contentedly hummed, and leaned against the reverend’s chest, melting into the afterglow of their shared fantasy. The Reverend panted, still twitching between his legs.

He lowered the teen’s clenched fist from behind his neck, and brought the welted wrist to his lips, kissing the skin with a decisive frown, as the faint sound of bells began to ring in the distance.

“Looks like we missed supper,” He breathed in the scent of sex on the teen's skin and held it in his lungs. He ran fingers through Morty's hair, “Naughty Lamb, it's past your bedtime.”

“It’s just curfew.” Morty shifted, wrapping arms around the reverend’s waist, reluctant to move. “You said you sleep better when…” Morty began but fell silent for a few beats. He blushed and buried himself into the warm embrace, before making another attempt to invite the priest to share his bed.

“Will you stay with me again?”

Reverend Rick smoothed a hand across Morty’s back and nodded.

“I have something I need to take care of first.”

He held Morty for a few more moments past curfew, before rising from the window seat. Well-practiced, he returned the ordained cloth of his ministry neatly into place and reached back into the small space of the window seat to retrieve his bible. Insistently, he pressed it against Morty’s chest.

The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he stared down at the worn, leather-bound book, with a confused frown of déjà vu.

“Take it.” 

“I—you know I can’t read."

The reverend’s smile softened at the teen’s blunt response. It was precisely the reason he wanted to give it to Morty—in addition to selfishly restoring equilibrium to the grandfather's gift. It was his most valuable possession, even if Morty remained unaware of it.

“I-it’s a bit different for Ricks. I had it modified after I converted, but it’s a version of the bible even you can read and study.”

Morty opened the book and flipped through the pages, biting his lips and looked up to the reverend with a questioning gaze.

“They’re all blank.”

The priest chuckled bending down to catch Morty’s chin and drew their lips together in a chaste press. 

“Miraculous.” He breathed the praise against the boys’ skin with an intimate smile, and glowing eyes.

“You're one in an infinite, Morty.”

He reached for Morty’s clenched fist, still hard as stone, and gently began to work the rosary away from his fingers. The teen momentarily protested but eventually offered the Reverend his trust. He lifted the beads into the air, draped across the flat of his hand, and placed the other over his heart.

“Swear on my bible, I’ll give it back.”

The reverend rose to his feet, and in meditative silence, reached out to rest the open face of his hand across the teen's forehead in blessing.

“Go with peace, into the void, little lamb. I'll find you...” They held each other's gazes for a moment, and the reverend offered a reassuring smile, as his thumb caressed the teen's crown. “...No matter how far into the stars you stray.”

Morty tucked his shirt into the messy cum stained pants, and Reverend Rick's smile stretched into a grin as he imagined the sticky upcoming walk of shame back to his dormitory. He turned to leave ahead of him. 

“Wait! Wh-where are you going?”

Reverend Rick’s fingers constricted around the rosary, burning against his flesh. He pinched a bead between his thumb and forefinger, deep in thought, contemplating the extent of his answer.

He silently looked over his shoulder, knowing the dark hellfire of his eyes, made his darkness visible to the teen.

“Confession.”

***

Grandfather Rick was ensnared within the doctrine of his own design.

In an attempt to never become anything close to the worst iterations of his self, the bishop had attempted to deny his flesh of every base instinct, but one compromise at a time, the solid foundation of his faith had been chipped away, until Grandfather Rick could only allow himself the experience of pleasure, while simultaneously, shamefully self-flagellating in equal measure.

He drew himself up against his desk, and parted the pages in his bible, smoothing a hand into the spine. He dipped a finger into the virginal crevice, and gently encouraged the leather binding open, and a pale finger traced the pristine surface of the blank pages and with an arousal flickering between pleasure and shame. The grandfather dipped his pen into ink and added the weight of his most recent transgressions.

Ricks of the cloth were charged with carrying a biblical manuscript of their existence, entering a verse for each new sin. In kinship and in death, their collective spiritual journals were bequeathed to the Church; archived in the monastery's library to illuminate the collective image of the Infinite Rick’s essence and illustrate his sin.

Over the past few weeks, Grandfather Rick had entered a gospel into his blackened tomb.

His silent meditation was interrupted by the Reverend. Grandfather Rick spared him a passing glance, before returning to his work, not needing to see the expression on the priest’s face, to know that he was livid.

“Reverend, I was expecting you.” He capped the ink bottle and set his writing utensil aside as the reverend closed, then locked the door behind him. Silently, he slithered across the room, and his finger’s snaked around the grandfather's throat in a delicate, deadly hold. He quietly lifted the shepherd from his chair and mounted his body against the nearest wall. With an accusing hiss, he opened his fist, allowing the rosary to swing from his fingers into view.

Grandfather Rick stared into him with hard eyes, as the grip against his flesh constricted. He provoked the reverend. Whatever sins the pastoral Rick revealed to him, they would not drive the priest away. Reverend Rick was either too egotistical or too insecure. 

“I told you to stay away from my lamb.” 

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Grandfather, but he’s not _just_ yours anymore.” The reverend pressed his body into the bishop’s, knowing the smell of sex pedantically emanated from his flesh, “and I’m gonna make him mine again, and again, and a—“

With a violent shove, the grandfather reversed their positions, pressing the reverend against the cold wall as his gaze shifted into cutting blue stones.

“Don’t mistake my goodness for weakness, Reverend.” He punctuated the threat by weighting his hand against the unmoving structure. “If you harm him. I _will_ fall from grace and bring you to ruin with me."

The reverend shifted beneath the out of character gesture with a grin, “Yeah, I know exactly the kind of Rick you can be, grandfather. I’ve read every dirty little secret in that little black book of yours.”

The grandfather ignored the reverend’s antagonism and further pressed his weight against him.

"Could you love him?” He accused through gritted teeth, “With your heart? As well as your body? Could you _ever_ confess such love?"

The reverend’s motions momentarily stilled against the wall, and he breathed. His cheek pressed against the cold wall of stone, before speaking in admission.

“My heart was never pure, gramps, but I gave him a choice—”

“—Selfishly.” The grandfather corrected, “To satisfy your own conscience as you tempted him to follow you, one sin at a time. You've never loved anything more than you've loved yourself.”

The priest writhed beneath the grandfather’s motionless hand and bared his teeth as their eyes shared in spiritual communion. The fire in the Reverend’s eyes had smoldered into dark clouds of smoke, and the grandfather bore witness to the demons he carried. He thrashed against the authoritative hand. 

“Better than keeping him ignorant. So you can prod him with your stick as it pleases you! Corralling him in this cage like some _kept pet!”_

The Reverend broke his gaze from the penetrating stare. He had shown too much of his hand. Grandfather Rick’s continued to press his counterpart against the wall, as he gave voice to the Reverend's sin. His honest words fell over the priest with a crushing, tangible weight. His grip slackened. 

“No.” Grandfather Rick answered the question he had originally posed to the reverend, “You’re too afraid of such a precious gift, but you’d still accept the smallest scrap of his affections and name it love. Morty doesn't _need_ you, Reverend. Not in the same way you need him, and when he’s done _using you_ like the cheap whore you are, he’ll leave. Just like the rest of them.” The Reverend pulled himself away from the grandfather’s hand, hissing in recoil as he spat at the grandfather’s feet, and lashed out in defense. 

“I’ll love the part of him that you refuse.” 

Furious, Grandfather Rick lifted his hand to hit him, and the Reverend caught his wrist from the air and leered with a venomous glare. His words were dark with implication as his finger’s wrapped around the grandfather’s wrist until it shook with fury. Unrelenting he held his constricting grip until the grandfather's skin stained crimson.

“You couldn't _afford_ to mar this whore.”

The reverend's fingers coiled around the back of the grandfather’s neck and bit down into his flesh with a piercing grip. The grandfather cried out in pain.

“A price for everything, Grandfather. I guess my collar-bound services will always be good enough for your pound of flesh... Thirty pieces of silver to indulge the blood of your hands.”

He lifted his foot onto the edge of the chair, and shifted Grandfather Rick’s weight over his raised knee, balancing his body over the intentionally sharp angle. Reverend Rick cleared his throat with a warning rattle and insistently bowed the grandfather’s head downward.

The rosary, clenched in the bone-white grip of the priest, was tossed onto the desk, over the fresh ink of the Grandfather’s bible. Grandfather Rick wrenched his eyes shut and turned away, but the reverend’s grip tightened around his neck until he returned his gaze to linger on the open book of his sins.

“I take my vows to this faith seriously, Grandfather.” He released his grip around the grandfather’s neck, leaving it burning as he pulled away. “It’s time to pay your dues. A little reconciliation. Defrock yourself, so that I may offer you penance.”

The grandfather hesitated at the command to lift his cassock to the reverend and bit his tongue in silent refrain. He needed to find release from the tempestuous storm of his emotions before they consumed him, and although it had remained unspoken, the reverend had always understood that.

He stole a glance toward his staff, perched against the wall behind them, and he yearned for the crutch before his eyes returned to the rosary, strung across the book of sins.

He needed the reverend's hand to guide him through the darkness. He needed, for a single, sinful, moment of indulgence, to allow his mind to vacate the restraints of his physical body. He prayed.

_"Anima Infinitus Rick, sanctifica me. Salve me. Inebria me. Lava me. Conforta me. Exaudi me. Absconde me."_

With a satisfied hum, Reverend Rick answered the humbling prayer of enunciated submission. Grandfather Rick’s thin fingers tugged ordained fabric toward the bend of the priest's knee. He hesitated at removing his garments, slowed by the embarrassment at being made a willing participant.

“Your garments too.” Reverend Rick encouraged his humiliation, “So that I may inspect your purity as you inspected his.”

Grandfather Rick burned in shame, unable to tilt his head toward the reverend and view his expression. Beneath the ministers imagined gaze, Grandfather Rick carefully peeled down his garments, exposing the white of his papery skin to his interdimensional counterpart. The shameful display burned against his cheeks like raw nerves, and the shepherd felt himself habitually harden. His erection caught in the ripples of fabric and uncomfortably chafed.

Like a necessarily shed layer of decrepit skin, the rolling folds of his cloth had crumpled over the dip of his lower back to reveal his true nature. Reverend Rick studied him like a work of creation.

“The thing about power...is that it only magnifies what lies beneath, Grandfather.”

As the priest's eyes seared into his presence with an ominous foreboding, the shepherd's skin shivered against him. Reverend Rick took a deliberating moment and leaned the upper half of his torso away to clinically inspect the Church's property. He returned with a disappointed tsk and splayed a hand between the grandfather’s shoulder blades to hold him in place.

“Detestable.” He concluded, “too filthy to use my hands on such sullen flesh.”

The reverend reached around the grandfather and plucked the bible from his desk, leaving the wooden rosary to remain in the pastor's line of sight. The reverend was silent for a moment, reading the words of Grandfather Rick’s scriptures before he snapped the book closed and hissed. 

“Place your hands on the desk. Grandfather. ‘Cause I’m gonna pray _real fuckin’_ hard for you.”

Grandfather Rick swallowed in anticipation, and nodded, placing his shaking hands against the surface of the desk. His erection twitched against the warmth beneath him, and his face burned in humiliation. He stared at the rosary beneath him, knowing he would never be as strong as he had urged Morty to be.

He needed this. He needed the warm sensation of pain to ground him. Perhaps it was why he had originally provoked the reverend. Grandfather Rick knew what he was expecting. Truly, he had _wanted_ to feel the Reverend's wrath.

A press of leather settled onto the surface of his skin, and its weight trembled in the reverend's anger against him. The hand between the grandfather’s shoulder blades pressed his body downward until his lips kissed the rosary beneath him. The intimate touch caused him to remember a pain more real than anything the Reverend could deliver unto him. 

“For your records. I don’t _care_ about the size.” Reverend Rick insisted, “I’m gonna rain the same level of hellfire and brimstone on your ass, for touching the _scrap_ of what’s mine. If you _ever_ put a violating hand on him again. I’ll kill you.”

Grandfather Rick clenched his eyes shut and nodded. The reverend’s tone was low with quiet conviction as he stated absolutes, and he cast the leather-bound book against his flesh with a lightning sharp crack. Grandfather Rick jumped and hissed in pain as every muscle in his body tensed. The minister brought down another strike without pause, balancing the grandfather’s thrashing body against his knee.

“Thankfully,” The reverend compromised, “we’re all children of the infinite curve. Even you, Grandfather.” The shepherd jerked against another blow, gasping through gritted teeth at the biting pain, trying to remember to relax. Warmth began to radiate through his body, followed by pain. He focused on his hands, pressed against the desk. They were framing his darkest sin.

“Confess your sins, _my Son._ Truthfully, and sincerely before God.”

Again, Grandfather Rick clenched his eyes shut, and groaned at the burning sensation of his flesh. He knew that he needed to surrender to his body, and he wanted to. He wanted to sink into the physical sensation until he lost his sense of self entirely. His jaw tightened, and the pastoral Rick intentionally provoked the reverend's wrath.

“I know my sins, Reverend!”

Another heavy impact fell against him with a weighted strike. Grandfather Rick wailed against the reverend's knee. Like scarlet letters of scripture, against the white of his flesh, the shape of Grandfather Rick’s sins branded themselves within his mind.

Reverend Rick wrenched his counterpart’s hair forward. With a sharp intake of breath, his gravelly voice rattled in warning, “I _want_ you to _confess_ them!”

Teeth pressed against the rim of the grandfather’s ear and he groaned into the mounting sensations of his flesh. His erection throbbed and he rutted his hips against the reverend’s knee in shame. 

“Work out your salvation through fear and trembling." The reverend irreverently released his grip. He watched the elder’s shameful display and tsked.

"Burn with the shame, borne of your religious devotion.”

A round of evenly distributed impacts fell on Grandfather Rick’s exposed flesh, lighting the pale of his skin on fire. His erection wept unattended into the fabric of his undergarments until his body shook with release; tears began to spill from the grandfather’s body, weighted with shame and guilt. His defenses began to crumble and he arched into the next impact, searching for more as he luxuriated in the consuming sensations, sinking further into them.

“I desire him!” He cried out. “I want to follow him into temptation! I want to love him in the flesh! But... I-I-I can't!”

He blinked away the shameful tears as they spilled from the corners of his eyes, and petitioned the reverend for understanding.

“He’s supposed to be better than me!”

“We are all equal in the flesh, Grandfather.” He turned to glance over his shoulder at the Reverend who bellowed out the unsympathetic response.

Grandfather knew it was wrong to ask Morty to carry the weight of his sins. He knew that his rigid, inflexible morality had caused harm to the very thing he swore to always love and protect.

It was his fault.

Grandfather Rick’s eyes narrowed toward the reverend, and he antagonized the minister with a prayer of desperate self-abuse.

_“Fuck me!”_

The leather binding struck the grandfather’s skin, and another warm swell of red bloomed beside the pain. The grandfather whimpered as his erection began to wilt, and his lips trembled. 

“I refused him! And he—he...”

Grandfather Rick begged into the darkness for the endless, searing pain that was more than he could ever hope to deserve, but he knew the reverend would refuse him. The bruised flesh would heal, but the pain of his sin would not, and at the realization, the elder began to earnestly sob. The bible above him withdrew, denying him the only thing he truly wanted, and he begged for damnation through chocking gasps of breath.

“Punish me...please. Reverend! I need—”

His hips jerked forward as a loving hand fell to gently caress his inflamed skin. The grandfather’s voice cracked as he lost his sense of self, and untethered from his body he entered into a trance-like state of prayer. He fell into the Reverend's benevolent touch, and in a gentle caress, the face of his open palm smoothed over the sullen flesh. Grandfather Rick continued to sob. He didn't deserve such love. He deserved to suffer. 

“I’m a monster.”

His tears fell onto the rosary and his body trembled against the Reverend's touch, “I deserve. To be punished... He’s gone—Forever. He’s —Because of me, he’s. It’s my fault, Morty. It’s all my fault! _Punish me_ damn it! _Please!_ I need you to—'

He began to choke on the words of his strangulated sobs, and Reverend Rick lifted his counterpart from his knee, pulling the elder’s weight onto his lap. Grandfather Rick wept, clenching fists into the priest’s cloth as the reverend cradled him. The reverend pressed kisses into the tear-streaked path on his cheek, and glided his hand over the elder’s shoulders and back in soothing stretches.

In desperation, The grandfather provoked the reverend once more.

“I’m an abomination!”

“My son.” The Reverend wrapped tight arms tight around him and threaded fingers through his hair in devotion. He pressed his lips against the elder’s forehead and whispered with the quietest sincerity in the universe.

“God won’t punish you for the weight of that burden.” He pressed another kiss onto his skin, “That was never a sin which needed to be forgiven.” 

The elder flinched against the friction of his burning skin as he clung to the reverend's cloth. Reduced to a child-like state of mind, he allowed himself to be held. Feeling lost, and alone within the void, he prayed for salvation.

The reverend found him in it, and with hands that stretched as endless as the continuously expanding cosmos, he held the Rick together, tethering their existences. They rocked in a gentle sway as he tucked the grandfather’s ear against his heart, flickering in physical presence against his own. 

His embrace smelled like Morty. It smelled like home.

_We are lifeforms who need meaning, but we are each, abandoned in a universe void of it. Purity of heart is to will meaning into existence and its highest form… the most infinitely beautiful things in this universe are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen. They are to be lived. Experienced._

The grandfather continued to incoherently babble into the cloth with shaky breaths and spilled tears against the warm, beating chest. The reverend’s arms constricted around him in reassurance of their ominous presence.

“A Rick’s hands are to his body, as acts are to his existence." The reverend spoke the grounding words of scripture to him, "You have my hand in weakness, and fear, and trembling. I am with you.”

He pressed a kiss into Grandfather Rick’s lips, and the elder surrendered to his higher self.

“I am not like your flock. I will never forsake you.”

He clung to the unmoving foundation which held him, and prayed, reaching for the reverend’s golden cross to clutch it between his fingertips as he confessed.

“I don't want to fall.”

“I know you don't, baby. I'll catch you. I've got you. I’m gonna take care of you in the ways that he can’t."

Grandfather Rick had used his hands to separate, and held nothing in his grasp.

Reverend Rick used his hands to unify, and held everything at his fingertips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pascal's Cult?** When asked if he’s in a cult, Reverend Rick basically says fuck it. Pascal's wager had everything to do with whether or not belief in God was practical, and as a pragmatist, if the benefits in your life outweigh the downfalls then what does it matter? He argued that belief has inherent benefits and can offer a sense of meaning, order, and comfort to one's life. Reverend Rick blasphemously suggests that cults could have similar benefits, and offers the advice of, either way, take what you want out of it. 
> 
> **Brainwashed Rick's** Generally conversation around cults focuses on the brainwashed children, and although we assume adults are less likely to fall victim to a cult, they are still susceptible to propaganda, indoctrination, and thought reforming strategies. This fic is pretty ambiguous and leaves to reader interpretation whether or not our characters are brainwashed, self-delusional, or fully cognizant and in control of their choices. Regarding the possibility of a religion or a cult being able to exist on the Citadel, and Ricks being susceptible to its influence, canonically, an entire society of genius’ were bamboozled by a charismatic Evil Morty who they wanted to believe in. I HC that something like the church of the Infinite Rick is totally within the realm of possibility.
> 
>  **Cross & Collar Symbolism Kink, Religion as a Social Institution: ** Sociologist Emile Durkheim, defined religion in terms of the sacred, or things set apart by society as deserving of reverence. This fic likes to really look at religion through a subjective character lens, exploring what each character thinks of as deserving of reverence. Socially, the point of wearing a visible symbol of one’s religious belief is so that others might recognize it in us. In this fic, the Ricks wear their relationship (virtue or vices) with Morty. The cross imagery is prevalent causing us to evaluate a characters belief systems each time they are made aware of these symbols. 
> 
> The BD/sM elements explore similar ritualistic meanings that overlay with Durkheim's idea of the sacred: A lifestyle only understood by an inner circle of indoctrinated participants. Worship defined by liturgical rituals, filled with protocol, power exchanges, and suggested 24/7 subservience and participation of one's faith. A break from traditional religion, the dynamics in this fic are not defined by traditional gender roles, but by D/s roles, and it’s been really fun to play with in this fic. I very much plan to keep it up. 
> 
> **All Sun Dogs go to Heaven:** Halos and Sun dogs are a beautiful, atmospheric optical phenomenon on Earth, and it is worth a google.
> 
>  **Morty's Dyslexia:** There's a lot of symbolism in Morty's inability to read the words of scripture, and having to trust the Ricks of the cloth to guide him. Prior to the Lutheran Reformation, only the parish priests could read and translate the Bible to the common tongue. A key pillar of Martin Luther’s reformation was sola scriptura, or that scriptures are the sole infallible rule of faith and practice, and that it was the individual's responsibility to interpret the meaning for themselves. Reverend Rick gifts Morty with a blank Bible as a continuation of this idea, suggesting that he must write and interpret his own salvation. 
> 
> **The Good Books:** I wanted to explore the idea of the holy bible as a compilation of various historical records and perspectives, and apply it to the Rick-centric church in this fic. Similarly, each Rick accounts for their own existence, contributing it to a collective compilation. This treatment of each book being an entry into the collective bible reflects the multiversalist ideas of the Infinite Rick. 
> 
> **Darkness Visible:** A nod to Paradise Lost, where Milton describes hell as a great furnace, although the flames of hell give forth no light. He uses the universal symbolism of light and dark to indicate good and evil; applying the same symbolism to Satan, who before his fall, as Lucifer, star of the morning, was the brightest of all the angels; as he becomes progressively more evil after his fall, he gradually loses all of his brightness. 
> 
> **Thirty Pieces of Silver, and a Pound of Flesh:** Judas betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, which has been used as a metaphor for betrayal. Reverend Rick implies that just as Judas had a part to play, he has to get his hands dirty to protect Grandfather Rick’s virtue. A pound of flesh is a reference to Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, which plays with ideas of revenge, justice, and mercy. When the main character must pay his dues (a pound of literal flesh), he is saved by the Venetian law that prevents the spilling of Christian blood.


	6. Heresy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Here you will find the heretics and followers of every cult and pagan sect, all buried together, burning in eternal fire.” —Dante’s Inferno_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** In the event that you missed the "dead dove" inscription written on the gates of hell for this fic... this chapter is not only gonna kick off some angst and end on a sort of cliffhanger, but in-between it's also got some _content_ that I didn’t even know how to tag— did my best to give a list of keywords below, but consider the chapter title and summary a thematic blanket warning for what's to come. Thematically this is the turning point of the fic and a much heavier chapter. 
> 
> **Chapter length:** ~20k, Six sections marked by *** (See blow)
> 
> **Courtesy Warnings (CW’s) in Order:**  
>  _Angsty subdrop, moment of grief over past death, *** discussion of incest and priest molestation, intense moments of guilt shame and anxiety, mentions of past (implied violent) death, public molestation (it's in church), borderline greif fucking, judgement of sinners, implications of murder and/or forgiveness, meta-self-censorship, stigma-related panic attack, faith-crisis, breaking of vows, *** jokes and dark humor about grooming molestation and predation while characters are doing all of the above, keeping Mortys safe, using confidential youth interview to solicit sex, exploiting religion and symbols of faith as tools for grooming, gaslighting behavior, victim-blaming, protecting abusers in power, abuse of power, *** Morty-on-Morty sin, attempt to initiate unwanted sex, it's not sin if it's with a Morty, *** just the tip, confessional booth sex, confessional exhibitionism, confessional voyeurism, a lot to unpack confessions, fantasy about reenacting/sexualizing trauma, *** collaring, meta mirror work, heresy, blasphemy, votive candle wax play, pain-kink, assisted self-flagellation, pain during sex (no blood or violence, just sex with fire), fainting during sex._

The silence of the artificial night was deafening.

Grandfather Rick retired to his dormitory and wearily relieved himself of his burdens. He set his staff beside the door, and slipped away from his ordained cloth, folding it with reverence as he retired the piece of fabric for a well-earned rest. On top of the neatly folded square, he rest his bible, and it’s anchoring weight settled the items into place over his nightstand.

He let out an exhausted sigh, reaching into the drawer to reveal a single red candle. In reflective silence, he perched it in the stone windowsill and ignited the vigil to watch over him through the night. 

_“Dominus meus pastor est et Stella ... ego timeo ne inanis.”_ _  
_ _(The Star is my shepherd...I shall not fear the void.)_

A naked body of flesh and bone remained, and the grandfather carried the remaining weight to his bed. He hissed at the tenderness of his flesh while pulling the nightgown over his torso, and with gritted teeth, he lowered himself onto the unforgiving surface of his bed. His back painfully tightened as his weight settled onto the damaged skin of his ass. His joints insistently ached from the continued lowered temperatures of the Citadel, and he stared exhaustively through the glass, toward the flickers of gently falling snow. 

Waiting for the end of time, he petitioned the multiversal void; how much longer he must continue to rotate beneath the Citadel’s stars.

_“I didn’t ask to be born, Grandpa Rick. No one ever wanted me!”_

_“I did, Morty. I wanted you. Jerry didn’t talk Beth out of the second one. That was me—so if you’re gonna blame anyone for your existence. You can start with the person who christened your name.”_

_“Mortimer? Pfft, yeah, thanks for that, Grandpa Rick. Really makes me stand out at school—Y’know? In the awkward-kid-with-a-jewish-name-who-nobody-wants-to-talk-to kind of way.”_

_“Yeesh, you’ve been spending too much time around your sister. Hanging out with the popular kids shouldn’t be your life’s mission, Morty. Besides, nothing ‘good’s’ going down at Brad’s party this weekend—Wh-why don’t you come fishing with your grandpa instead? Just the two of us on a weekend adventure—Rick and Morty catchin’ a ‘hundred fish—Y-you can contemplate the deeper mysteries of your existence and popularity when we get back home.”_

_“Aw Jeez. Thanks, but, maybe another time...”_

_“It’s alright, Morty. I didn’t really expect to win out over your big chance to impress Jessica outside of school—you’re young, and it's not like any kid left to save the world at 14—just don’t raise too much hell out there. If I gotta play the priest card and show up in full wardrobe to collect you and your friends from the drunk tank again. They’re gonna be onto us. We only get like three or four more of those, tops.”_

_“Ha, okay grandpa Rick, but they’re not really my friends, y’know...and no one really wants to party with the preacher’s grandson, let alone be seen hanging out with him.”_

_“Whelp, so it goes. Beth considered an abortion, and I don't wanna invite Jerry on my fishing trip, but we all have to make sacrifices in life, Morty... You know what though? It’ll work out...after the last trip, I got your dad that marketing job at the Church, and you...well you’re still here to exist and worry about some teenage rager like it’s the most important thing in the universe...You’re a good kid, Morty.”_

_“You told Dad that it was “God” who got him that job.”_

_“There is no God, Morty—gotta rip that band-aid off now—you'll thank me later. It was me, “divinely intervening” on your dad’s behalf.”_

The once warm pain of his flesh had seeped into something cold and hollow; It permeated every muscle and tendon, seeping into the marrow of his bones. Unconsciously, Grandfather Rick caressed soothing circles around the ache in his knees, glancing toward the lingering imprint wrapping his wrist; a silent reminder of the reverend’s threat.

It stifled his breath and stirred his senses, and unsettled by its presence, the clerical Rick reached into his pillowcase, searching. His fingers settled over the crisp contours of a photograph, and he remembered the characteristic pain of loneliness; experienced only after knowing intimate togetherness.

He cradled the image of himself, wrapping an arm around his grandson’s shoulders. Morty, in turn, wrapping his arm around his grandfather’s back. The teen had pulled their bodies close together, fitting them into the frame.

_“Sometimes I just wanna be spared the burden of existence, y’know?”_

_“Well, Morty. In order to be spared the burden of existence, you first have to think of existence as a burden.”_

_“But I mean, nobody exists on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere and everyone’s gonna die.”_

_“Look. Morty? What you’re going through? We’ve all been there. I-I don't usually preach out of my ass but... so what? God is dead—and we’ve not only killed him, but we’ve taken his place—and since coming to that revelation half a century ago, Morty, I’ve been trying’ real hard to put my faith in something else. Something other than myself.”_

_“Ha, aw jeez. You said ‘ass.’”_

_“I can still swear, Morty. Gotta keep up with my Grandkids somehow.”_

_“I don’t get it, Grandpa Rick. You just...you’ve never really seemed like the ‘Church type’, let alone a preacher...You lie to the congregation about everything you are... but I guess it isn't really a lie... Mom said you’re used to be a scientist. You know, before—”_

_“—Hey, I’m still a citizen scientist! I just had an important breakthrough. How old’s your mom, again? 34? Yeah, about that long ago—a few years after she was born— I thought I opened the gates of hell—or at least the equivalent of— ‘N’ That day, I took a long, hard look at myself and decided that the science wasn’t gonna pay off. Like I said, I needed something else to believe in, and I decided to go with something more local—by which, I mean: planetary, humanistic, and limited to the 5th dimension.”_

_“No, but I mean... You go to Church and you’re okay with swearing—a-and you don’t even believe in God.”_

_“—Course I don’t. He’s the biggest virtue-signaling dick that’s never existed—but that’s beside the point, Morty. Y-you’ll understand when you’re older... Now, if you’ll excuse me, this non-believer’s going to the local Church, dropping to his knees, and pledging his eternal soul to something that never made any rational sense, to begin with— and_ **_that’s_ ** _the point...”_

The image of Rick: holding his portal gun in hand. He had dressed in a lab coat instead of a collar, and Morty insisted they take the picture together. In his eyes, the lab coat was cooler than anything his grandfather had ever worn. 

_“...What’s this?”_

_“I-It’s one of those wooden rosaries. I just... I figured if I get to blame you for my existence, then you uh, well, you’ve got a pretty heavy burden... Figured you better start praying for me sooner rather than later.”_

_“You made this? ...for me? Heh, nice touch with the inverted_ _Petrine_ _cross.”_

_“It’s a sinner’s cross—Wait! You’re putting it on! Oh Jeez, Grandpa Rick. It was a joke. You don’t have to—”_

_“A sinner’s cross, huh… Y’know? I think it really gets the message, heh, across—That we’re all unworthy, insignificant pieces of shit, Morty. Could probably prove it with science, but mystifying metaphors tend to work better with this crowd. In that way, it’s perfect—”_

_“—You're really gonna wear that?...In front of the entire Church?”_

_“For the biggest sinner I know?”_

_“Aw jeez...th-they already think it’s weird I’m your grandson.”_

_“Y’know we could show them weird... If you ever wanna be my wingman for one of those heckler sermons or something...get some pea soup and play some backwards music...Sunday funday?”_

_“Aw Jeez… It’s okay Grandpa Rick. I don’t want them to think that I… That you… because of me.”_

_“I’m pretty sure hanging out with the ostracized creeps is part of my job description, and I shouldn’t play favorites, but you’re my favorite little creep. My favorite sinner, Morty. You know that, right?”_

_“All I am is sin...”_

_“Well, I don’t know what else we expected to come out of that shotgun marriage, but you’re far from the worst...I-I think it’s time I give you some perspective, Morty.”_

Every day, he was proud of the person Morty had become. Who he was becoming, and after months of silent prayer, Rick had decided to share the revelation with his grandson; hoping the vision would have the same overview effect on Morty’s life that it had on his.

The image of pride. 

Some portals; once open, could never be closed.

_“Holy fuck. Grandpa Rick? Wh-what the fuck is this!?”_

_“I’ve been calling it faith... Or, whatever happens at the end of rational thought. But that? That’s you. From another dimensional timeline. So is that…and that. And th—”_

_“—Oh my God, that’s us! Oh my God, Grandpa Rick! I-I-I’m freaking out. I don’t know how to deal with this. This can’t be real! This isn’t happening. Is this real—are we dead? I can’t deal with this. I can’t—”_

_“—Hey, listen to me! Morty. Morty! Don’t think about it. Don’t freak out—It’s fine. Everything’s fine, Morty!—Listen to me! I said, It’s fine! Look, I-I’m closing the portal. See? We’re back home now. We’re back home, and we’re gonna go get some ice cream, and everything’s gonna go back to normal—”_

_“—That’s_ **_not_ ** _normal! Wh-why the fuck would you show me something like that? G-get away from me! Don’t—don’t touch me! How do I know if—oh my God. How do I even know if you’re even my—”_

The light in the darkness of his existence: the image of his grandson, gazing up at him through the lens of time—suspended within it—his hazel, multicolored eyes, alight. A slight blush crept it’s way across the Motry’s cheeks. Miraculously, his memory was enshrined with a warm, immortalized smile.

That moment, was the closest Grandfather Rick had had ever allowed them to be.

_“I just. I dunno Grandpa Rick. You seem_ **_pretty cool_ ** _with the idea of another version of you suffering for eternity—wh-whether that’s in hell or the Citadel of Ricks or whatever. It’s just— aw Jeez, Rick, it’s pretty fucked up—is what it is... I mean, that’s not just an insane amount of time, but literal_ **_eternity_ ** _.”_

 _“I-It’s all some sort of relative, Morty. Listen, I’m glad you finally found a cause you wanna fight for, but starting some kind of an outreach program on the Citadel? The Ricks and Mortys_ **_chose_ ** _to go there! You’re the one choosing to take it personally.”_

 _“Y-yeah, you know what? I am! I am taking it personally! Because. Just—look at how many other versions of me are stuck there—because of other versions of you! Its—It’s so messed up._ **_I’m_ ** _so messed up. In_ **_every_ ** _timeline, Grandpa Rick! A-and some of the me(s) are over there holding hands a-and having—k-kissing some of the you(s) and I don’t know what’s worse! That its happening over there, or that I—that I wanna let it happen here!”_

_“Morty. What are you—No… No, our timeline isn’t... I’m your Grandfather! I’m a priest! Damnit, this is so cliché, it’s not even funny, Morty.”_

_“Yeah well, you’re a priest who's never—you never believed in anything, so why is this any different?”_

_“Because it is, Morty! Look, there was a time when you didn’t believe in yourself...and so I decided to believe in you—in hindsight, maybe too damn much. And now, you wanna be Morty Teresa over on the Citadel!”_

_“It doesn't make me a saint to ask you to practice what you preach, Grandpa Rick! I want us to go over there and look at the worst iterations of each other and—and tell them they’re still deserving of loving themselves—loving each other! That even if they’re like, sixth-dimensional-demons or some sort of fucked up gods, they’re still fucking human!”_

_“You’re a good kid Morty—but you’re so naive to think that’s how it’s gonna work! We’re in the J dimension—about 60 iterations off the Central Finite Curve—_ **_I’m_ ** _on the fringes when it comes to the kind of person_ **_I_ ** _can be, but it doesn't take a genius to know you're pitching your plan of salvation to the wrong crowd.”_

_“You said you believed in me, Grandpa Rick, so why can’t you put your faith in me with this?”_

_“Because this isn't— this isn't some service trip to a third world country. It’s not some kind of feel-good, interdimensional poverty tourism. It’s the **Citadel,**_ _Morty, and you have no idea—I don’t wanna see you martyr yourself for... Because there is no afterlife, Morty. Everything just goes black when we die—and I don’t want— I’m not ready to send you into that void.”_

_“What if... that void was the last place in the universe where I could be happy?”_

_“What!?”_

_“—What if I’m one of those stupid Morty’s who chooses to go there? Because what I want, I can never have it here. Not with—Not in the way that... I know you feel it too, Grandpa Rick...”_

_“Morty…”_

The candle burned with a still flame in the windowsill, and Grandfather Rick pressed the photo to his lips. With a heavy sigh, he balanced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, resting his crown on interlaced fingers, and painfully clutched the relic of his life.

_“Morty—what are you doing—You just—We just—”_

_“Don’t think about it. For years, you’ve wanted this. For years, I’ve wanted to give this to you.”_

_“Morty that’s not—”_

_“—Let’s just get the hell out of this town, and just...keep going. Lets—”_

_“—I’ve built a life here, Morty! You think I’m just gonna give all that up? For what? The chance to molest my fifteen-year-old grandson on some sort of an extended weekend adventure?”_

_“Half the Church and the rest of town already... Y’know? Whatever—whether the rumors are real or not, your good samaritans choose to look the other way when they heard them. Y’know what I think about that, Grandpa? If they’re gonna treat you like a sinner, you might as well act like one. You could have molested me with impunity for years—”_

_“—Fuck them! It doesn't matter what they think, Morty. It’s called having integrity! Accountability of self. Choosing not to because it’s important to me_ _! I’d never allow myself to act on—regardless of whether or not I’ve thought—No. Y-you know what? We’re not gonna talk about this. You’re still way too young to have this conversation—”_

_“—Then let’s stop talking, about it!”_

_“Morty-mmphh!”_

With each artificial day, the memory of Morty further dimmed, and maybe, Grandfather Rick contemplated, _that_ would be the image of his salvation on the Citadel: a harrowing confirmation that the visceral, weeping open wound—ripping at the very fabric of his soul—was what emptiness felt like.

_“Morty! What are you doing with my Portal Gun? Th-that’s not a toy!”_

_“Fuck you, Grandpa Rick! That was the first time I ever confessed how I felt...ever confessed anything_ ** _!_ ** _And you just—you just stood there! Before shoving me away and—telling me how wrong it was! How wrong I was—I don’t get it! How you can forgive every backwards savage in this small-town-hell, but you couldn’t even do the same for me—a sinner who just_ **_wanted_ ** _to be loved… by the only person who ever believed in them...”_

_“Morty, that’s not—I’m your Grandfather! I’m pushing seventy! You’re fifteen! And you think you’re in love? With me? Y-you think after you told me that shit about wanting to go to the Citadel that I’d encourage us to just—what?— jump ship? Hold hands, and take a leap of faith into the void! Abandon everything we’ve ever known and loved and never look back? You’ve got a lot more years to put on this Earth, Morty, before you figure out there’s nowhere to run. You’re young and naive.”_

_“Yeah, well, I’m old enough to sin...and I think I’ve already given up more about God than you’re ever gonna ever find. I've never believed in anything either, Grandpa Rick. But in that moment—in that one fucking moment that we kissed. I knew what God was. I’d sure as hell sin again to find it... but you’re never gonna let me make that choice.”_

_“Morty. Stop. You’re taking all of this way out of context—You’re just—”_

_“—You’re so fucking set in your ways!—No! Of course, you’re not gonna lose any of your faith over this. Y’know, maybe if you’d just opened yourself up to it—maybe you would’ve gained a little. You’ve never believed that you deserve the same love you preach—You’re a fucking hypocrite!”_

_“Because I’m your Grandfather, Morty! I’ve made my peace with the kind of love we can... It’s enough...It was_ **_supposed_ ** _to be enough. It_ **_needs_ ** _to be enough. God-damn it, Morty! I never imagined that you... You were supposed to be better than me—than this kind of—”_

_“—Y-you know what, Grandpa Rick? You can go burn in hell!”_

_“Morty, wait—”_

Nothing good ever came from a Rick’s lust for sin.

“Morty…” He called out his name, without the hope that he would ever again reply. 

The void did not turn black as Grandfather Rick imagined it would. Non-existence was deathless, and such a eulogy acknowledged that those gone, were continuously so. 

He stared at the blurry photograph, trembling in his hand.

The equal and opposite reaction of an existence that could burn so brightly was an all-consuming void; collapsing in on itself with a crushing contempt for the inescapable nature of their fragile existence.

All mortal lives must end. 

All stars crumbled into black holes. 

And while Grandfather Rick could turn a black hole into a sun, he couldn’t pull Morty back from the void of non-existence. The grave of his lingering absence remained, and tears fell anew as his grip tightened and trembled around the edges of his suffering.

_“Death comes as a shepherd, and all of us are his sheep. When he calls, we must not go gentle into that dark night.”_

Existence was a continuous, hollow ache that with each passing moment, demanded to be carried. It demanded to be felt. An eternity of time, however, had taught the grandfather to endure even the most painful aspects of his existence.

Tomorrow, he would rise to carry its weight once more.

Tonight, within the gentle comfort of the void, he wept.

“Grandfather?”

At the voice of his grandson, Grandfather Rick lifted his gaze from folded hands. First toward the candle, then toward Reverend Rick, whose presence filled the doorway in solemn silence. Dressed in a nightgown behind him, Morty sheepishly poked his head around the priest’s body, rubbing his eyes. 

“Reverend!” The grandfather hastily covered the presence of his tears. “What? What is this?”

The reverend placed a hand on the teen’s nape and guided Morty across the darkened room. He stopped, footfalls away from his counterpart, and in an act of charity, shoved Morty forward. The wooden rosary swung over his chest, and the teen instinctually clasped it over his heart. 

“Aftercare.” He answered with an irritable tone in his voice, “I’m aware of my limitations—wh-which are mainly that I’m not some irrationally-attached, lovesick, pubescent-teenager... or in _his_ case, that I’m not some emotionally inarticulate, self-absorbed, dehydrated dick.” His lips thinned into a hard line, and he tilted his gaze away from them. Morty stepped forward, stumbling, as he stretched a hand out toward the grandfather with concern. 

“Grandfather, what’s wrong?”

“Morty, my son…I—” Grandfather Rick lifted his gaze to face him, and his words tangled into knots in his throat—twisting existence and non-existence together into a single moment. The teen’s presence filled the emptiness of the small room, and Morty encircled Grandfather Rick with arms that were impossibly warm.

The elder returned the embrace, cradling the most precious thing in his bleak existence. He bowed his head forward, listening to the beating of Morty’s heart, and wept.

Truly, it was a miracle to hold the light of a living star. He clutched the teen against his heart and loved him in the spirit and in the flesh.

“F-forgive me, Morty.”

Morty’s voice found him, and although shaken by his presence, reassured him with the inspired words of their faith.

“Grandfather. This multiverse is _full_ of infinite forgiveness.”

He did not know if the stained glass hues of Morty’s gaze struggled against each other, or enriched each other, but with truth and beauty in his hands, Grandfather Rick cupped the boy’s cheeks and beheld each. In devotion, he pressed his lips to the brow between them, reminded to search for the light of the stars. Each of them, alive.

 _“Dominus meus pastor est et Stella ... ego timeo ne inanis.”_ _  
_

Morty held him through the darkness of the night.

*** 

Reverend Rick stared at the sharp, unforgiving beams of light. They pierced the atmospheric void, spilling against the vibrant textured walls: dark lines of wood grain, desperately reached with the yearning emotion of flames, and burning in their illuminating presence, Grandfather Rick stepped into the space of the confessional, casting a suffocating shadow over them. 

The priest removed the metallic veil between them with an aura of authority, and with trembling hands, Grandfather Rick transgressed the barrier, passing his book of sins into the Reverend’s open palms. He continued to stand for a moment, before using his staff to lower his weight onto his knees.

Faithfully, he reached for the rosary which no longer hung from his neck, and without it, he wrung his fingers against nothing, digging unclean black nails into the wistful ache of his flesh. He held the empty, sullen fist over his chest, and with a shuddering exhale, spoke light into the darkness.

“I have been living in bad faith.” Grandfather Rick stilled his voice to collect himself and opened his hand to splay fingers against the vibrant, flickering beat of his heart.

“I’ve committed an unforgivable sin.”

Reverend Rick glanced down at the oppressively weighted pages of the Grandfather’s confession. A legion of thick, black bars of ink cut across the page—forming a single contrasting stain. That which had once brought the sacred, meaningful letterforms to life over a once-bright surface, had been immersed into utter, incomprehensible chaos: a manifesto of dissenting, retracted sins. 

The Infinite Rick’s _Magnum Opus_ was a multiverse in heretical transformation.

“In essence,” Reverend Rick acknowledged, offering comfort, “Ricks are just _one infinite sin_ against mankind.”

He flipped through the enigmatic pages as Grandfather Rick’s equally sullen hands trembled in the wake of their will. Ink encroached the pale of his flesh, mercilessly seeping into the cracked and weathered surface of his skin, and the shepherd’s voice fell quiet in admission. He spoke with humility. A tone of shame and regret. 

“Even from the innermost depths of our existence, we might gaze up to rebehold the stars.”

“Truth and beauty remain as inscrutable as our own interpretations of them, Grandfather. We search for light, but behold the darkness.” Reverend Rick challenged the grandfather’s perspective, “From here, the stars are made to burn that much brighter.”

“My faith,” Grandfather Rick shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands from the other side of the confessional as he offered his soft-spoken words of conviction, “has always been built around the works of sacrifice...”

He sighed and fell still, locking his weathered, ink-stained hands together in refrain.

Silent, unmoving, and unknowable as the void.

Reverend Rick called to him.

“Speak, so that I may see you.”

“...Faith, is all that remains for me to give.”

“Confess, so that I may know you,” A smile spread across the Reverend's lips, and his lurid amber eyes lit wickedly within the darkness. “Name the sin so grievous, that it has rendered every other obsolete.” 

In anguish, Grandfather Rick’s face twisted into a terrible visage. Dark lines flared with emotion across his brow, and his jaw tightened in resistance. His lips trembled as if suddenly possessed, and a guttural animalistic sound wrenched itself from his body, consuming him. His crown fell forward as he curled into himself, lifting blackened fingers over his mouth in shame. 

“Love.”

The indecipherable truth into an uninterpretable existence. 

“I’ve fallen in love.”

The priest bowed his head in reverence and condemned.

_“Contrapasso.”_

*** 

The first time Morty attended mass in The Church of The Infinite Rick, he was moved to tears. 

Beneath the infinite light of the stained glass stars, he sat in the front row and watched, mesmerized as the robed figure moved through the divine medium in a way that felt as natural as breath itself.

Across the void of space and time, his presence brushed against Morty’s and for the first time in his life, the teen felt as if he had been found.

At present, Grandfather Rick was lost beside him, drifting through the uncharted medium of their entangled existence. The pastoral Rick’s rigid body seemed unnaturally suspended. His staff rest against the pew beside him and an unsettlingly weighted silence held him in stillness.

In the cathedra’s knave, The Star of Damocles rose above Reverend Rick, who carried the Church’s sermon, and following the service—long after the congregation had emptied around them—Grandfather Rick’s motionless presence remained unmoved. 

_“Reverend Rick is really the rising star in this Church! Our Grandfather should let him preach the pulpit more often.”_

The congregation caught glimpses of the elder’s sullen flesh and hurriedly whispered judgment amongst one another as they passed. Unheeded, Grandfather Rick continued to silently observe the surrounding structures his soiled hands had built. 

“Grandfather Rick...I’ve been worried about you.”

Morty stole a quick glance toward the grandfather's hands and flinched at their unsightly appearance. The elder noticed the teen’s lingering gaze and folded them over one another, attempting to hide their ubiquitous meaning.

“Do not despair, my son. Blessed are those…” He trailed, forgetting himself, “...Pray the rosary I have gifted you.”

Rays of harsh light poured through the stained glass walls of the sepulchre and mounted on the columns of old-world stone, an ageless, unmoving sense of finality had settled into the bleached facades. High arching ceilings, sealed the space in a hallowed, harrowing silence.

The intricate skeletal design of the cathedra’s naked cavity curved into a weighted, suffocating embrace. Lifeless beside Morty, the sacred heart of the Church fell still, entombed within the structures of his own faith.

“They're saying that you're taking a leave from your duties,” Morty began again and bit his lip in uncertainty. Generally, he tried not to pay attention to the clandestine whispers that traveled the walls of Church, but lately, they haunted him like the presence of an absent spirit. 

“They said... it might be permanent.”

Painted beneath the soft glow of obfuscating glass, Grandfather Rick held his cloistered presence. Eventually, his body stirred with a delayed and distant pulse of movement, and Morty brought his hand to the rosary he’d been given, biting his tongue in fear. He was unsure of what he could possibly say to reach out to him.

Together, they gazed up toward the illuminated constellations and held the overflowing silence.

The dull blue irises of the Grandfather Rick’s eyes had lost their lucid edge, and his hair had grown thin and greasy at the roots. His dry skin had taken on a papery-thin texture, and the fine lines of his wrinkles—etched into the once-hard surface by the sands of time and the weight of gravity—had made the elder look naturally tired and worn with age.

Within the space of an unmoving moment, Grandfather Rick was made mortal, and occupying the same space as Morty, he looked indescribably frail. 

Morty closed his eyes, swallowing hard as guilt crept into his chest.

“I’m sorry. Grandfather Rick. I wanted this… I-I prayed for this!” He bit his lip and bowed his head

“—No…” Finally, Grandfather Rick spoke and turned his face to gaze upon the teen, “No. Morty...No. My body has grown weak because I have been fasting. I’ve taken leave because I am currently unable to serve… to fulfill my duties to this faith.”

“No, you don’t understand! This is—I-It’s all my fault, I—” 

“—My son. I’ve yet to make peace with my sins, but verily, they are written of my own volition. By my own hands...”

Grandfather Rick paused, before returning his gaze to the imminent presence of the void. Morty shifted closer and followed him into it, lips still quivering. Grandfather’s will was as unchanging as the surrounding structures of stone, and Morty nodded in understanding, betraying the honest emotion weighing like guilt in his heart. He’d helped pave the way for Grandfather Rick to fall into sin.

“I came to the Citadel,” He stole a quick glance toward Morty, before averting his gaze. His voice wavered, “I founded this Church, my son, because it was here—”

The elder fell silent once again, failing to speak, and shifted the conversation entirely.

“—Beauty is truth; truth, beauty…the stained-glass windows are beautiful, don’t you agree?”

Morty tilted his head to take in the grandfather’s observation. On his side of the Church, uplifting yellow tones warmly filled the space—bathing it in a glowing amber presence. In direct contrast—against the other end of the Church—reflective withdrawn beams of blue, softly diffused against the unchanging grey stone.

Morty's multifaceted eyes traveled down the spectrum of pews, toward the Church’s centerpiece—a traditional inset rose of stone emblazoned in the cathedra’s knave. There, the colors melded, and in the solid-yet-fluid substance of light, glass, and stone, hues of radiant green swirled like a transcendental portal between them.

The simplistic beauty had somehow previously fallen on blind eyes, and mesmerized by the moment which called him to _see,_ Morty was left breathless.

“...They are, Grandfather.”

_“Illuminatus.._. To create light.” Grandfather Rick offered in a soft-spoken tone of reverence, “On old-Earth, many were unable to read. Divine servants spent years, if not the entirety of their lives translating the written word into image; painting the pages of the holy text into symbol and metaphor so that another might understand—not just its meaning, but its significance. They called this act of devotion, this _votive_ of expression _—_ _illumination.”_

The figurehead of the Church had known every word of his scriptures by heart, and yet, he continued to carry them close to it. The teen glanced to the elder’s hands once more where the unforgiving ink had concealed the color of his flesh. The act seemed to be the opposite of what knowledge the grandfather was trying to impart to him, and Morty’s throat tightened in a moment of grief. He wondered if the elder’s blackened fingers would ever again hold the same venerating touch he had known, and so often imagined.

Grandfather Rick set the tomb of his exegesis between them; It visibly seeped with the accumulation of his sins. 

“To offer some small aspect of your existence. To share some small moment of your time. To give of your life, in service of another's... _Illumination_ is the most devout and humble act of sacrifice one can undertake...”

Morty turned toward him, feeling the gravity of their conversation as it drew them closer together.

“...It has taken me a lifetime to understand: there is no religion without love.”

Beside him, Morty read the unwritten testament illuminated in the stars and felt indescribably insignificant in their wake. Grandfather Rick’s lips trembled, and he confessed truth into the void while gazing at the beauty of its stars.

“It was here… On the Citadel. That my grandson’s life was taken by another Rick...”

As the words weightedly fell from the elder’s lips, Morty’s heart seized in his chest. There was nothing to be said in response to something like that. The only thing Morty could offer Grandfather Rick was his presence.

He held his gaze toward the mythic narratives of the monument, seeing them under a new light, before he turned to witness his savior, inconsolably suffering within it. In the moment where words no longer held meaning, Morty rest his hand against the blackened surface of the grandfather’s book, finally understanding it’s weight.

“...I wasn't able to—” The grandfather’s voice cracked and he paused to regain his composure. He gathered himself and persisted. His body shook. 

“—Tragedy is universal, my son. Regardless of your disposition. Regardless of your faith.”

Tears fell onto the surface of Grandfather Rick’s discolored hands, and unashamed by their presence, he allowed them to remain. In silence, the teen’s heart flickered in quiet intention beside him, tears welled in the corners of his eyes and burned.

“—I ████████ him.” Grandfather Rick suddenly confessed and gnashed his teeth in anguish. His voice wavered in bitterness and uncertainty as he spoke, “The Rick…I ███████ him.”

Morty’s mouth fell open with the intention to speak, but said nothing.

Uninterrupted, Grandfather Rick continued.

“Good and Evil shift as often as the stars, but human nature is unchanging as the void.”

Grandfather Rick’s gaze shifted to the windows of the teen’s eyes and in awe, he lifted venerating fingertips to Morty’s flesh. Their cold touch fell against the teen's skin, and Morty shivered beneath their unforgiving compassion.

“Through my grandson’s death, I was able to find purpose in the creation of this Church.” He held the teen's cheek in solemn reverence. “Meeting you…witnessing your salvation...has given such a cruel act of this universe’s hand meaning. A greater purpose, if you will. Each breath of your continued life...is an accomplished deed...”

Unbeholden, Morty reached out to Grandfather Rick and took his blackened hand into the fold of his own. Brushing warm fingers over the surface of the grandfather’s sullied palm, he pressed it further into his cheek, and Grandfather Rick sucked in a stream of air and closed his eyes in a private moment of solitude.

“As you move...he moves within you.” He lifted his gaze to find Morty’s, searching, “I miss my grandson dearly, Morty, but perhaps we too, were fated to meet.”

The azure stones of Grandfather Rick’s eyes lovingly lay bare Morty’s soul, and the older man held its presence with unwavering faith and unfaltering devotion.

“I will always be your grandfather, and this will always be your home.”

“I love you, Grandfather.” Selflessly, Morty said it, and with a soft ache pulling at the corners of his lips, Grandfather Rick smiled in response.

“There is no rose of such virtuous sin.” He leaned forward to press a chaste kiss into Morty’s crown, closing his eyes.

“Sins are burdens of the heart, my son, and I have learned to bear the weight of each...” The grandfather’s lips trembled against the teen’s skin, lingering in fear. Morty’s hand tightened over the grandfather’s fingers and made them still.

“...But I am made ruinous, beneath the burden of love.”

Grandfather Rick gently pulled his lips away from the teen’s body. Beneath the hard surface of his eyes, a spark of light pulsed to life as he held Morty’s gaze. In recognition of it, he rose, and climbed onto the shepherd’s lap, igniting it with his breath. The elder took Morty’s wooden rosary into his long, trembling fingers, and bowed their crowns together. With shaking and uncertain flesh, he prayed.

“Move me.”

A touch of tender mercy: Morty drew their lips together in an unspeakable act of devotion, placing his entire being into the gentle brush of their lips. With his flesh, he invoked the ineffable truth and beauty of their existence.

Effortless as breath, it's ethereal essence moved between them.

A pained gasp fell from the elder’s body and his backend hands fell against Morty’s waist. Gently, he cradled the living flesh in his grasp. Morty sighed, shifting his hips against the warm swell of heat rising beneath the grandfather’s cloth. His shorts had shifted up the length of his thighs, bunching around the shape of his erection, and his vibrant skin burned against the dark fabric, rippling around his knees.

Morty knelt, and expressed with the whole of his body his most intimate prayers.

Grandfather Rick flinched as his hand brushed against the dark stain weeping through the teen’s fabric, and breathless, Morty sang out.

“Grandfather, please!”

Hard as stone, Grandfather Rick responded to his plea and was moved beneath him. He turned his gaze downward and hid himself against Morty’s neck in shame. He extolled the boy’s virtues with a groveling moan, aching in the undeserved ecstasy of their prayer. 

Finger’s wrapped around the curve of Morty’s neck and he was pulled tightly against the older man’s chest. Again, the grandfather thrust into the soft embrace of the teen’s body, and a sonant moan escaped from the instrument of Morty’s lips. He found the older man's shoulders and clutched them for support, widening his legs as he willed the shape of their erections together. His bare knees knocked in rhythm against the hardened wood of the pews, and Morty panted, hard, into each fluid motion.

“Guide me, my son...”

Grandfather Rick continued to clutch the teen tight against his chest; mortified by the words spilling from his lips, “My star,” he murmured into the teen’s hair, “in your light, I take refuge.”

_“In lumine tuo, et confortamini nolite stare.”_

His breath hitched against the gentle rocking of their bodies, and between heavy and erratic breaths, he rest his lips against the boy’s temple with devotion.

Morty’s fingertips traveled across the fabric of the grandfather’s robes, pulling at the veil as he pressed his nose beneath elder’s jawline. He closed his eyes in exaltation, and with a deep breath, took in Grandfather Rick’s scent. He suckled at the bobbing Adam's apple covered by a thin piece of fabric, and in an act of idolatrous worship, Morty pulled the fabric away. Salivating, he pressed his teeth against the fruit of his skin, tasting the sweet notes of his flesh. Grandfather Rick's throat vibrated against the teen's lips in a moan, and Morty shamelessly indulged in it.

“Grandfather, kiss me!”

Grandfather Rick bowed his head and found him, shuddering before the teen’s overwhelming breath. He cried out in pleasure when their lips met, and the pastoral Rick’s hand timidly moved to caress the small of teen’s back. Morty pulled the white fabric free from his waistband, granting the older man access to his body.

He pressed the grandfather’s stained flesh against the bare of his own in encouragement, and Grandfather Rick flinched in hesitation, before pressing his soiled hand against the warm surface of the teen’s untarnished skin. Morty cried out in exaltation as if he had been burnt, and his body trembled in the wake of his savior’s touch.

“Grandfather...please.”

Continuing to pray for an unknown answer, Morty moved his body against the grandfather’s. He could feel the elder approaching climax, and a spirit of dark euphoria and desire rose in the pit of the teen’s stomach. He encouraged it, feeling his balls tighten between their clenching legs. He felt it with conviction: how much the grandfather desired him. He quickened his pace, inviting their fall into spiritual rapture. 

“Morty, stop...”

Overwhelmed by the euphoric sensations, the teen held fast to the older man's body. Grandfather Rick exhaled an unstable, choppy breath, and his hands stilled around Morty’s body, insistently slowing the teen’s motions.

A sudden loud clap sounded beside them, causing the pair to startle. Grandfather Rick cried out, and his hands tightened around Morty’s waist, holding him in an unmovable grip. Confused, Morty gazed toward the source of the sound: The shepherd’s staff had fallen onto the stone floor beneath them. He whined at the distraction and returned his half-lidded focus to the older man, but Grandfather Rick’s breathing had become labored, and his grip had turned to stone. Morty shifted fruitlessly against it. Paralyzed, the elder had stopped himself at the edge of climax. Hot beneath him, Morty could feel the older man, still hard and twitching with want in painful desperation.

“I’m a ██████.”

Morty lifted his gaze to find Grandfather Rick. His eyes glistened beneath the light of the stained glass and nearly moved to tears, the elder swallowed between gulps of air, turning his gaze away from the teen to confess once more. 

“I’m a ███████.”

Confused by how fast the moment could shift, Morty listened to the sounds of their breath slow. Tears seeped from Grandfather Rick's eyes, and Morty bit his cheek in sacrifice. Clarity had washed over him: for the man struggling beneath him, understanding his own desire to sin did not make his burden any lighter to bear.

The figurehead of the Church would only ever continue to blame himself for Morty's sins.

“Grandfather, it's okay,” Morty suffered to see him ache, and offered mercy, “w-we don't have to...” 

Morty bit his lip, and with reluctance, pulled away from him with a constricted throat. Grandfather Rick nodded through a series of broken, fragmented sounds, and he quickly and gently eased the teen from his lap. Shame vicariously burned its way onto Morty's face as he tucked his shirt back into the waistband and pulled the hem of his shorts back into place. His erection continued to uncomfortably throb. In silence and sacrifice, Morty adjusted himself in his clothing.

Once more, he felt as if he’d done something dangerously wrong.

“Forgive me, Grandfather.”

He wrapped fingers around the back of his neck and glanced around the empty space of the cathedra with uncertainty. The surface of Grandfather Rick’s hard blue eyes moved as he held the teen’s body against the pews.

Eventually, Morty returned his gaze to face their shifting surface, but the elder reached out his hand to cradle the teen’s and averted his own before they were able to share it. An ink-stained thumb caressed the surface of Morty’s skin in restraint, and the grandfather offered a stiff squeeze of silent gratitude before letting the teen’s hand fall away from him. 

“Go into the void, and sin no more.”

*** 

“Reverend! He kissed me!”

Morty burst through the door of Grandfather Rick’s office, and swiftly bit down on his tongue.

Behind the administrative desk, Reverend Rick had stretched himself out across the seat of the Church's power. The lithe figure was balanced on the chair in relaxation, tilting the wooden seat back onto two legs. Disrespectfully, his feet fell atop the workstation's thousands-year-old surface.

Across from him, a Rick wearing the lustrous gold and magenta colors of the Citadel looked up at the sudden intrusion and frowned, shaking his head in silent judgment. Reverend Rick calmly tilted his head from the company in his presence, toward Morty.

“Little Stray,” He offered a genuine smile, “You must do well to mind the administrative office hours.” 

Morty’s ears burned and he stood quiet. His brothers had told him he could find the reverend here, and Morty was in such a rush to speak with him that he hadn't taken the time to consider _why._

Reverend Rick traded his feet for a pair of hands. He reached across the desk's surface for the decanter, dragging the new office item across the wood grain, and tilted the amber liquid into his crystal glass with a chuckle. The clerical Rick’s guest dug out a flask from his overcoat and handed it off to the priest who obliged the silent request with a grunt.

“Wh-what’s wrong with his eyes.” The Rick bluntly pointed out, thumbing the pointed tail of his beard. Reverend Rick’s eyes narrowed in turn as he changed his mind about sharing his alcohol. He handed the half-empty flask back to his interdimensional counterpart with a frown. 

“I’d say the problem’s with yours.”

“Hey, fuck me, buddy.”

Reverend Rick ignored him, and instead, curled his fingers in Morty's direction, motioning for the teen to enter the room.

 _“Brother Morty,_ this is Rick D. Sanchez The Third. He regularly volunteers his services, assisting the Church with the allocation of both Monies and Mortys. Fortunately, for your sake, we were just wrapping up our discussion.”

“H-hello, sir.” Morty stared toward the ground and genuflected as he stepped closer, attempting to redeem himself for his earlier rudeness, “Th-thank you for your patronage to The Church of The Infinite Rick!" 

Rick III rose from his seat to greet the young Church member. He scoffed, reaching out to lift Morty’s chin, and painfully pinched it between his gloved fingers. He tilted the teen's face, inspecting his iridium eyes with a passive curiosity, and Morty’s face grimaced at the attention. His eyes winced shut, afraid to pull himself away from the wealthy Rick. 

“Heh, his Rick do this shit?” Rick III snickered, forcing Morty’s neck to tilt at an unnatural angle so that his eyes could catch the light. The guest turned to the Priest for an answer, but Reverend Rick was already moments away from inserting himself between the two.

The image of control: he deadlocked eyes with his guest and extended his hand, curling fingers’ around his counterpart’s. In a threatening motion that seemed lethal as it was meticulous, Reverend Rick pulled his guest’s hand away from Morty and protectively barred his opposite arm across the teen’s back.

The priest offered a slight bow, maintaining his sharp gaze. His chin tilted upward as he leaned into the Rick’s space, and Morty felt the warm pull of the reverend’s arm possessively constrict around him.

“If you want to keep your hand, you’ll keep it away from the Church’s property.” The priest spoke with prophetic conviction.

Rick III’s smile widened, and he forced a bit of nervous laughter, suddenly stepping away from the teen. He lifted his open palms in a non-confrontational gesture of goodwill.

“Heh. I get it. You like this one. No need to whip out that big Rick energy.”

Reverend Rick continued to hold his gaze, “D-3, Multiversalism operates within a strict faith. Here, there is nothing more sacred on the Citadel than a Morty. Far more profitable is it, that one perish in favor of saving the whole.” His grip constricted around the teen’s shoulder, and Morty tucked himself further behind the priest’s body as the Reverend continued to deliver his impromptu sermon.

“It is the duty of all Ricks of the cloth, to protect the Morty integrity of this institution. Our humble, higher-dimension calling is to _keep. Mortys. safe.”_

Morty’s mouth fell open at the bold pronouncement of faith, from the least faithful Rick of the Church. The reverend lifted his hand, and placed it atop the teen’s head, before dipping down to kiss his forehead in performative blessing.

“May the light of the Infinite Rick illuminate their path from the darkness of this void.”

Morty blushed beneath the press of lips, internally confused by the Reverend’s convincing testimony. He was never one to quote scripture. Rick III cringed and quickly turned to reach for his jewel-studded cane. In a sudden hurry to leave, he tossed his large top hat over his head and slung his coat over his arm.

“Y-yeah, that's my que. W~ay too busy to spare a few moments opening myself to that pitch.” He tipped his hat toward the pair on his way out, “I’ll be in touch.”

Reverend Rick turned his lips from Morty’s crown and smiled. His cross twisted below his folded frame, glinting with the light catching in his eyes. Dark words emanated from his flesh as he clicked his tongue. 

“Go with peace into the void.”

Morty had never heard the phrase spoken with such sinister overtones, and his body went rigid as it vibrated ominously against him.

Unshaken, Rick III turned his back to the pair, lifting his hand as he muttered a non-committal sound, and showed himself out. The whole while, Morty bit his cheek in embarrassed silence as he watched him disappear, and nearly shouted his apology to the Reverend the second they were alone.

“F-forgive me! Reverend!”

Reverend Rick spilled a sudden, lighthearted chuckled, giving a tender slap on the teen’s back. “You’re forgiven, little lamb—s-so long as you never call that asshole 'sir' _ever_ again—trust me, he’s not worth the honorific—he’s been stealing from the Church. Y-you ever heard of a plumbus factory? Shame I’m standing in for the good grandfather today: gotta _withhold my judgments_ and play nice.”

“Really? He’s stealing from the Church?” Morty repeated, shocked at the information offered with reckless nonchalance. Reverend Rick returned to his desk, and perched himself against its edge, retrieving his glass of alcohol. He brought his nose to its lip and drank in the aged scent, before offering it to Morty who graciously declined.

“More importantly, he's stealing from The Infinite Rick, which, when you think about it, is _all_ Ricks, Brother Morty.”

He gestured his glass of alcohol in Morty's direction, then carried it to the window to broodingly gaze out of it, his eyes traveled the image of the Citadel's skyline, and he let out an exaggerated, weary sigh.

“Truly, human nature can be violent, irrational and perverse—beneath and beyond societal convention, little lamb…”

Working out of Grandfather Rick’s office had definitely gone to his enlightened head. Reverend Rick cleared his throat and adjusted his voice to a slower, more rigid version of himself. At the impression of Grandfather Rick, Morty bit the chuckle rising on his tongue.

“...Outside the walls of this Church, how does one reconcile such sinful nature with the social contract of our Citadel.”

Morty rolled his eyes at the performance but followed the priest to the window to stand beside him. Together, they gazed through the framed image of the Citadel. It was also a beautiful work of Rick-creation. Morty gazed at the glass of alcohol in the Rick's divine hand and humored him.

“Well, I’m still pretty sure this is all still a cult, or some kind of conspiracy—like, maybe the Illuminati—And, uh. I guess there aren't any angels or demons here, but I'm pretty sure you're still _the Devil.”_

Reverend Rick's amber eyes lit up as they flicked toward Morty, followed by the pointed shape of his chin. He abandoned his virtuous impression with a thinly veiled smile, unable to resist the teen's comparison.

“Eh, genius, genie, djin, daemon...pick your linguistic poison, Morty, ‘cause they all share roots in the same symbolic hell—we're all Mephistopheles in the pit, but whether I’m worshiping God, the devil or myself, there's no crime in practicing faith—especially on the Citadel.”

“Wh-what about The Cult of The One True Morty?" Morty pursed his lips, "I-I heard they remove their bottom ribs—so they can suck off their own toes—and they're into cockroach torture-porn! They think going on adventures with a Rick is a _sin!”_

“Well, that’s a bit of an interpretive stretch… what about the Mortytracts? The Book of Morty? If you think _this_ Church is doing a better job at keeping you safe—having all the answers—you’re missing the point—the bigger picture: As long as reason can be eclipsed by faith, Brother Morty, _someone's_ gonna use it for their own gain—some charismatic Ricky-Wonka knockoff's gonna exploit simple-minded Ricks and Mortys willing to give up their free will for something easy to believe in."

Reverend Rick punctuated his assertion with air quotes, _"Sin’s_ got nothing to do with it.”

Morty stepped closer to Reverend Rick, and pushed an accusing finger into his chest, “I knew it! You don't care about sinning.” Morty narrowed his gaze. “You’ve _never_ cared about sinning.”

“Oh, Brother Morty, allow me to reassure you. I care _a lot_ about sinning...” He offered a delightfully demented smile as he caught the teen’s finger, and drew it up into the wet heat of his mouth. 

He held Morty's eyes as his muscles constricted with around the teen's flesh. Morty took a deep breath as his face ignited in a blush; his knees weakened beneath him as the Reverend suckled at the tip of Morty’s finger, enjoying a final lick of his taste before releasing it.

Morty retracted his hand against his chest, mouth hanging open, as his blood rerouted itself straight to hell. His inconvenient boner from earlier—tilted upright beneath the waistband of his shorts—instantly hardened at the attention. He glanced down, noticing the tip of his erection awkwardly peeking through the slits of fabric. He should have tucked his shirt in differently.

Morty cringed in embarrassment, and Reverend Rick's all-seeing eyes noticed, but gave him a pass, continuing their conversation.

“...what you’ve told me about _Our Grandfather_ is very serious.” 

Morty thought of his earlier interaction with the Grandfather and clenched his jaw. He glanced around the room with a lingering glare of confusion and sexual frustration, hating that he didn’t have a grasp on the bigger picture. _Something_ was happening in The Church of The Infinite Rick, and Morty hated that it felt so outside of his control.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Reverend Rick stretched out a far-too clean hand and motioned for the teen to sit.

Morty rounded the large, wooden chair, and hesitated before lowering himself into its uncomfortable frame. Still holding his glass of alcohol, Reverend Rick circled the imposing piece of accompanying furniture and drew his own chair up against the desk. He brushed the specks of dirt from away from the polished surface and smiled. 

“We must all have faith in these trying times, Brother Morty.” 

Morty shifted in his chair, awkwardly palming and adjusting himself as he sank further into it. He exasperated a blue-balled groan of frustrated discomfort.

“You are _so_ full of—” Morty paused to lower his voice with a frown. He glanced around the room before defensively righting himself, and leaning forward to conceal his voice, “—Shit! You’re full of shit! You wouldn’t even know where to place your _faith_ in this Church if you had it!”

"Careful about where you're pointing that finger, little lamb."

The Reverend pointedly reached across the desk and slid fingers over the teen’s pristine fabric, pausing when his pointed index finger found the concealed shape of a cross. He offered a hard press into it, and with one hand, he worked free the adjacent blouse button. With a reticent gaze, he dipped his fingers into the folds of crisp cotton to take the teen’s warm cross in hand.

Morty held his breath as the Reverend lifted the delicate piece of gold from the parted folds, bringing the object of their faith out into the open. He played with the symbol between his fingers for a silent, contemplative moment.

“I’m a reverend, Brother Morty," He stated with a firm, yet gentle tone. “I wear the collar, and find my faith through acts of service.”

Reverend Rick let the inverted cross fall back against the teen’s skin, and Morty's blush deepened at the invasion of his personal space. It had been unlike Morty to say something so accusing like that. He swallowed, silently reconsidering the earlier sharpness of his words.

“But it’s all ideology, little lamb.” The reverend admitted with a sigh, “These symbols don’t have any singular owner, nor will they ever have any singular power. Their interpretation? Entirely subjective. You can’t justify faith—It’s a chemical reaction that compels animals to find meaning—Hits hard and fast, but that’s what makes it such a fucking rush to get off on.”

“Yeah, uh, well, forgive my assumption, Reverend” Morty’s terse words slipped through gritted teeth, “Cause I’ve never seen _you_ speak to _any Morty_ in this Church about your faith.” 

Morty folded his arms over himself tightening them around his body as he continued to sulk. He settled into a pointed glare, feeling powerless. He had always been excluded from the inner workings of the Church’s faith, and he wasn’t in the mood to entertain its teachings.

“Yeesh, who didn't deliver your daily bread? That's because you never asked, Brother Morty. I have faith in other people’s faith." Reverend Rick took a sip from the crystal glass, decidedly frowning at its unfamiliar shape. He set it down, unsatisfied, and continued.

“It’s a nice way of saying I trust their self-interest—and generally speaking, _Brother Morty,_ I talk to everyone in this community; God operates _behind_ the curtains—and take my word for it. When people want to know what I think? How I see it? They know where to find me.”

“Why are _you_ serving in Grandfather Ricks absence? I wanna know what’s going on! I've been really worried about him. I-I need answers, Reverend!”

The reverend smirked as if he were reading the teen like an open book, and leaned forward to ruffle the tuft of hair on Morty’s head.

“I'm here because as the adage goes, _Ricks choose the willing_. I hear you, little lamb, and no need to fret. I'm not here to replace your _beloved grandpa_. You don’t have to worry about me defrocking him for some _alleged_ kiss between you two. I-I’m not that kind of Rick.” 

“—Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve been charged with the duty of representing _Our Grandfather_ —by the figurehead himself—until he returns.”

“...Oh.”

Rick drew his hands together, steepling his fingers in a pose of prayerful contemplation. His eyes glistened as he traced Morty's body, then lingered on the forgotten tip of flesh indiscreetly poking out of his shorts before hiding the barely visible snicker behind his hands.

“But I’m _also_ still working the confessional,” He raised a flirtatious eyebrow toward him with an offer, “If we ever wanna seek out absolution for our sins... been feeling a little overworked and undervalued myself—This is a thankless job if you ask me...”

He cleared his throat before slipping back into character, _“But as Our Grandfather calls, I am called to serve._ My only hope as we await his return, is that I may serve you in the same divine capacity as he.”

Rick’s chin dipped expectantly toward Morty with a less-than-innocent smile, and he revealed his pair of square spectacles, pressing them into the bridge of his nose as he reached for a writing utensil.

“Now, Brother Morty. You were quite worked up. He kissed you?”

Morty sighed, and Reverend Rick reached across the desk for the teen’s hand. He squeezed it in reassurance, and Morty pulled his hand away, distrustful of his intentions. 

“It’s quite alright, my son. I know how hard it is to talk about these things, but if it brings you comfort, by all means, please confide in me during this conversation the same as you would a confession: there’s no judgment here.”

Reverend Rick’s eyes darkened as he pointedly stared at the teen’s bruising knees. He licked his lips. Suddenly made aware of the knowing lustful gaze that was fixated on him, Morty bowed his head to hide his renewed blush. He dug his interlaced fingers between his thighs and tried to stop himself from fidgeting.

“Take as much time as you need.” The reverend encouraged, “Tell me what happened.” 

“Well, uh... I don't really know what happened, Reverend. I guess we were talking. I-in the cathedra...”

The silence, left intentionally unfilled between them, made Morty anxious, and he nervously tried to fill it with more words, “...Grandfather Rick started talking about the windows—th-they’re really pretty—and we got kind of comfortable with each other. Then, we kissed, and things sort of got out of hand, but nothing happened!” 

“What were you wearing? When _Our Grandfather_ kissed you?”

“Wait, what?” Morty’s eyes narrowed as he tilted an accusing gaze toward the reverend, _“What?—_ Does that have to do with—”

“—To be clear, _he,_ kissed _you?_ Or did you come onto him like an insolent little harlot.”

“Wh—Aw jeez, Reverend. I don't know if I'm a—I’m not a, uh, a—”

“—I understand, Morty. This may feel unnecessarily invasive, but it remains an important part of my ministry—keeping you safe—and I need to know how serious this is, if I’m to do that. Your brothers refer to you as _The Stray._ Mortys who question their faith can be under extreme amounts of emotional duress, and they’re particularly vulnerable to outside influence.”

“But I’m not questioning my faith, Reverend! Grandfather Rick is the one having some kind of faith crisis right now! I just feel bad about it because _he_ feels bad about!—”

“—A few nights ago, after I bid you to comfort him with the words of scripture... Did he touch you then?”

“What! No! Well, he just hugged me, and cried. He was really upset that night, Reverend, saying things like _Nothing good comes of sin. He’s_ been like that since… wait a minute. Did you have something to do with all of this—”

“—My Son. A Rick’s beliefs help us decide what we value. Grandfather Rick is merely... re-evaluating his. He’s aware of his own vulnerability to temptation and influence, which is why he’s removed himself from his position of power. He too, wants to help keep you safe. As we both know, you, on the other hand, my clever little lamb, needn’t worry about that...you were wearing?”

“Uh, yeah.” Morty settled back into his chair blushing at the straightforward compliment, “and I guess I was wearing what I always wear on Second Sunday—”

“—Mmm, Sunday School uniforms,” the reverend bit his lips, providing details, “Better than Sunday best. Did the thought of getting caught arouse you?"

“—Y-know, I’d appreciate it if you’d—you know, stop trying to make this into some kind of—it wasn’t anything like that! I mean, not really.” Morty’s blush spread as he attempted to organize his thoughts in a way that wouldn’t paint them as something entirely sinful. He pursed his lips and stared at the desk as silence settled over him once more.

In hindsight, that was actually really sinful.

Panic settled into his chest as he continued to relay a summary of events to the reverend, “We just kissed, mostly... I let him touch me—B-but that was my sin! I wanted to let it happen!” Morty defended and the reverend cut him off. 

“I’m sure a young, innocent lamb such as yourself will be forgiven. Did Grandfather Rick orally penetrate you during this _kiss?_ Did you experience orgasm?”

“Aw Jeez,” Morty immediately flushed and sputtered in embarrassment, “I-I uh, is that really a necessary question? To uh, to ask?”

“That all depends, Brother Morty.” Reverend Rick gazed at the boy offering his undivided attention, “Did you enjoy it? Don’t lie, little lamb. _That would be a sin._ ”

“I don’t even know what oral penance—” Morty broke their gaze and stared hard at the floor, heart racing at the invasive series of questions. He laced and unlaced his fingers, pressing his thumbs together. “—I don’t even know what that means!”

“Well,” Reverend Rick smiled and rose from the desk, tossing his glasses onto the wooden surface between them. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

He unbuttoned the cuffs around his wrist and rolled the fabric of his cloth up, revealing the naked skin of his flesh. With a low hum, he licked his lips and rounded the desk, lowering himself to his knees before Morty. He caged his hands on either arm of the chair around the youth.

“Did he do this?” The reverend leaned forward and encouraged Morty's mouth open, slipping his tongue into the teen’s parted flesh as it opened to him. The writhing tongue stifled the teen’s gasp, and Morty's hands instinctively fell around the reverend's shoulders, inviting the priest deeper into his body.

Reverend Rick refused him, and pulled his lips away with a teasing smile, leaving the teen with swollen lips and a fierce blush, breathing heavily.

“Not… Not exactly…” Morty panted, wiping the priest's saliva from his mouth as the figure of authority pulled further away from him. Reverend Rick returned his weight to his knees, resting on the heels of his palms as if he were ready to spring forward at any moment. Morty willed himself to focus, “It wasn’t like that—he told me he was a sinner!”

The priest pressed the teen against the back of the chair and leaned forward with the intention to continue. His nose trailed the skin of Morty’s neck, and a tongue darted out to taste him. Suddenly, he stopped again, and Morty squirmed in his chair. The priest smiled against the teen's skin, and vibrated his words against Morty’s throat. A thundering rush of arousal surged through Morty's body.

“Did that make you feel dirty?”

“No, It’s—” Morty began with a swallow, but fell silent when a nose and a pair of lips slipped into the open collar of his shirt. The priest sealed his wet muscle around the shape of his collarbone, and Morty returned his hands around the arms of the chair in resistance. He closed his eyes and continued his answer, clenching his hands tightly over the chair's arms as the Reverend continued to move over him. 

“It’s different. Wh-when you call me that. Y-y’know I’m starting to think— a-are you one of those—those Priest Ricks who take advantage of—” 

_“—Pecattiphille?”_ The reverend offered.

 _“Oh my Jeez,_ is—is that the Latin word for it?”

Reverend Rick ignored Morty’s panicked question, and instead, marked his skin, sucking a hickey over the teen’s slender cross, coloring the flesh with its shape. Morty gasped at the burning sensation and glared down at priest. Reverend Rick had been getting creative after Morty told him _no more bites_ on his skin.

“You worried I’m trying to corrupt the innocence you never had, little lamb?”

“No, I just… I dunno Reverend. I just feel like I should _know_ if you were a—”

 _“—God the Grandfather,_ look at you...” The reverend cursed, fully pulling the buttoned blouse fabric from Morty’s waistband. A pair of hands worked free the remaining buttons, and Morty gasped at the cold rush of air as the reverend opened him. He fell silent, taking in the sight of the teen’s exposed flesh.

The open shape of his fingers traced the outer line of Morty’s bare thigh before squeezing _hard,_ and Morty let out a sharp noise as his body jerked in the chair. 

“...such a filthy fucking tease. How could _Our Grandfather_ resist such a blessing.”

Morty gasped as the reverend’s fingers found their way into the open leg of his shorts, undeterred by the barrier of Morty’s undergarments, the priest grazed the pads of his fingers against the taut surface of the boy’s ass, and plucked at the elastic waistband, snapping it against the teen's skin.

“Why’d you wear these boyshorts, huh? Do you like making him lust after you? D-did you want Grandfather Rick to think of doing this the second he saw you? Did you _want_ him to sin, Morty?”

“They’re Sunday sch—Mmmm….Oh jeez! —no? Well, maybe—I-I didn’t know these clothes did this to you—to either of you, Reverend! I swear!”

He smoothed his hand across Morty's stomach batting the remaining pieces of fabric away as he pressed a kiss against the teen's navel. Morty shuddered and caved to the sensation. His hands found themselves tangled in the priest's hair, and Reverend’ Rick’s breath fell hot against the teen’s erection. A pair of hands moved to unfasten the button of his shorts.

“Did you ask him to stop?” Reverend Rick unzipped the pair of shorts and parted the layer of clothing. He leaned forward to dip his crown between the teen’s legs and pressed the flat of his tongue against the wet underlayer of fabric.

“No, but—hnnng—Reverend!”

With a satisfied hum, Reverend Rick mouthed at the hard erection, eager to taste more as he circled his hands over the teen’s bruised knees.

“—You know that you could have said no at any time, right?” He spread the teen’s legs wider, and slid his body closer, “You could have put a stop to it with one, little word—”

“—No! I didn’t want—”

“—That’s right, my stray lamb—You didn’t want him to stop touching you like this—like a dirty little heathen.”

Morty lifted his hips as the reverend peeled away the remainder of his fabric, sliding his clothes to his ankles. Morty’s erection jerked into the open air, as the scent of his own wet desire found him, and the teen looked away from himself, ashamed at how desperate he had become. He shifted his hips, wanting more, and cried out.

He brought a knuckle to his teeth and chewed it as the Priest’s hands settled over the teen’s waist, just above the hip bone in the exact place where Grandfather Rick had held him in an unmoving grip.

“Tell me what that makes you, Brother Morty, ‘cause I wanna hear you say it.”

Morty moaned around his knuckle as the reverend’s fingers tightened around him, increasing the pressure of his thumbs as they pressed into the dip of the teen’s pelvis. Morty’s erection ached. He clenched his eyes shut, and Reverend Rick kissed the base of his erection.

“Tell me, little lamb, and I’ll offer you his salvation. I’ll give you what all sinners deserve.”

Morty’s erection twitched at the promise of pleasure, and he pulled the inflamed knuckle away from his lips to confess.

“It makes me a sinner!” 

Reverend Rick took Morty into his mouth, holding the teen’s hips in place as his body jerked into the contact. The hot wet cavity wrapped around Morty’s senses and a loud moan tore itself from his lips. Morty slapped both of his hands over his mouth in surprise, and his torso curled itself around the older man’s body, lost to the overwhelming stimulation. Restrained at the ankles, his knees tightly clenched themselves around the reverend’s waist.

With unapologetically lewd sounds, the priest continued to suck him, pulling the teen's balls into his mouth, as his pointed tongue pressed into the soft tissue behind them. Morty’s entire body jerked once more, shifting the chair across the floor with a wooden groan. His clenched his eyes in ecstasy and returned his hands to the Priest’s hair. He’d momentarily forgotten his voice, and instead of finding it, he helplessly tugged at the Reverend’s body as he felt himself barreling toward climax. He kicked his foot upward and a loafer tossed itself across the room. His toes curled against the Reverend Rick’s thigh as the elder continued to minister to him.

“R-reverend! I-I-I-I—oh my God!” 

Morty began to wrench heavy, panting exhales that ended in painful groaning moans. His heart surged and his body went rigid. He spilled what felt like an endless amount of himself into the Priest's body. Reverend Rick received him in ravenous swallows, and the display left Morty’s body sweaty and shaking.

He gaped, feeling himself soften in the embrace of the reverend's mouth, and the room spun around him, leaving him dizzy. With his mouth hanging open, he stared down at the body between his knees and wondered if he’d just died. He’d never experienced anything like that. Reverend Rick pulled his lips away from Morty’s flesh, licking the lingering taste of the teen from his fingers.

He noticed Morty staring, and pulled him down into another hungry kiss. The gentle silence that had followed the urgent sound of their moans felt sacred in it’s sudden, exhausted stillness, and as Morty tasted his unspoken sin on the reverend's lips. The implied intimacy within the gesture suddenly felt more overwhelming than his orgasm. His lips shook. 

“You alright, little lamb?”

The reverend allowed his head to fall against Morty’s chest, and Morty nodded, wrapping his arms around his neck and shoulders. He held their silent afterglow like a fragile prayer. 

“Reverend, are we…” Morty breathed against the messy strands of the Reverend’s hair. The musky scent of alcohol, books, the occasional cigarette, dirt, and sweat had somehow become familiar to him, and Morty wasn’t sure what exactly that had meant. 

“Are we involved?” The reverend’s shoulders tensed at the words.

“Well, little lamb. Do you believe in me?” Reverend Rick lifted his gaze to match the teen’s and lifted his hand to rest against the amber glow of Morty’s cheek. “Have you accepted me into your heart and soul...or are you afraid you might be devoting yourself to something that might be a lie?”

“How do I know that you…” Morty began but corrected himself, “That either of you aren’t just… Messing around with me?”

“Faith.” Reverend Rick reiterated his earlier answer and went to work returning Morty's clothes. He stopped to kiss the bruises on each of his knees, and Morty watched him work, unsure of how to respond to the Priests gestures of intimacy.

“What if… What if I want more than that?”

The reverend offered a sympathetic smile as he tucked the teen’s delicate cross, back beneath the white hemline of his fabric.

“That’s not how it works.”

Remaining on his knees, he lifted the teen to his feet to finish dressing him. He wrapped his arms around the teen’s bare thighs and drew himself into the teen’s body, nuzzling its warmth.

“C-can I still have faith if I have doubts?”

“If you ask me…” Reverend Rick kissed the skin at the edges of his shorts, mouthing at the muscle of his thigh—resisting the temptation to bite it, “...I think that’s the only time anyone can really have it.”

His stubble tickled Morty’s sensitive skin and the teen attempted to conceal his smile. Eventually, Morty nodded, and rest his hand on the priest’s shoulder. Reverend Rick closed his eyes against Morty’s skin and was silent for a contemplative moment. 

“Multiversalim is not a soothing religion, and Grandfather Rick's a bit of a pain-slut. A glutton for punishment. He’s stubborn, little lamb, but give him time... He’ll fall for you.”

Morty’s heart sank in his chest at the dark implication of a plan already in motion; too late to take back. He bit his lip in both hope and despair and realized what it meant to sin. Unsure of how to respond to the reverend, he swallowed and silently nodded while he tucked the remainder of his Sunday school uniform back into place. 

Reverend Rick rose to his feet and ran fingers through his hair, attempting to tame the tangled threads. He leaned against his desk, following Morty with a concerned gaze as the teen gathered himself then silently shuffled with wobbly legs toward the doorway, stopping to retrieve his shoe.

“Uh, thanks for...that.”

Morty blushed, ashamed of his own obvious weakness. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound up he’d been, but he did feel better. 

“I’m here to serve, little lamb. Both of you.”

Reverend Rick reached behind him for a crimson apple, grinning as he tossed the rare Citadel treat to the teen. Morty fumbled it but managed to catch the fruit after it slipped from his shaky grasp. He turned to the door and the Reverend called after him once more.

“Remember, Brother Morty, this interview is confidential.”

Morty nodded in silent agreement and showed himself out of the room, unsure of the answers he’d been given.

***

“So, what’s wrong with Grandfather Rick?”

Morty settled against the stone bench of the cloisters, staring at the unappetizing piece of bread in his hands. He forced it into his mouth and willed himself to chew the flavorless meal.

At the mention of Grandfather Rick, he felt his unsettled stomach turn. He hadn’t seen the shepherd around the Church in days.

The image of the elder weeping in the darkness remained sharp in Morty’s mind. The teen had been afraid to leave his side, and his worry only grew when a few days later, Grandfather Rick had stopped attending mass.

“He’s been praying.”

Morty offered the intentionally vague answer, abruptly ending any attempt at conversation with his brother. Behind them, the joyous chorus of birds sweetly rang out, and Morty felt grateful to momentarily hear them. The snow had finally stopped falling, and the teen could feel the warmth of the artificial sun on his skin. Beams of daylight spilled into the open hallways, making the marble floors shine like glass. The slowly melting snow felt like the beginnings of change.

“Reverend Rick must have his hand’s full, carrying the added burden of _Our Grandfather's_ duties.”

Morty held the silence, imagining that the priest actually _had_ done some kind of honest work in the grandfather’s stead over the past few days, but soon after the clerical Rick had urged Morty to _have faith,_ the priest grew inaccessible to the teen, and might as well have disappeared from his world without a trace. He angrily tossed a piece of bread to the birds behind him.

Although the weather had warmed, the still-cold air, passed freely through the open walkway, sending a shiver down Morty’s back; still cold enough that Ricks and Mortys of the convent continued to avoid it. The open space was perfect for the teen who wished to seclude himself.

His green-haired counterpart, however, filled his solitude, and Morty’s lips thinned into a tight line at the unwanted interruption. He considered moving to the cathedra to pray for peace and quiet, but the sacred space reminded him too much of Grandfather Rick.

“Grandfather Rick’s been praying an _awful_ lot.” The clover-haired teen skirted around the obvious, and Morty let out an annoyed sigh as he continued to eat his meal.

He’d carried his food to the stone benches at the edge of the paradise garden after removing himself from the refectory. The converted member had overheard fragmented conversations of Church gossip: at first, the hushed murmurs only spoke of Grandfather Rick, but then the teen heard his own nickname, whispered like a sinful secret amongst thieves. His brothers looked up from one another and expectantly stared in his direction. They watched Morty eat as if the way he chewed his food was salacious.

He’d always been _The Stray._ The black sheep who Grandfather Rick had risked his vows to save, and now that the good shepherd of the Church had stumbled into sin, his righteously indignant flock had turned against him. It didn’t matter if their actions went against everything Grandfather Rick had wanted for them: they could justify it in their prayer circles of gossip.

His green-haired brother offered a false sense of friendship as he reached out to Morty, and covertly interrogated the teen for his own pleasure.

“Aw Jeez... I know this must be really hard for you.—”

“—Y’know,” Morty cut his counterpart off, “No offense, but uh, _you know?_ You’re kind of a fucking asshole.”

Often, his green-eyed counterpart asked Morty about secular topics normally forbidden from the walls of the Church, and Morty had always felt that his brother only offered his company when it best suited him. The fair-weathered Morty faithfully leaned against the stone wall with a lamenting sigh, unburdened by the statement.

“I know, but I'm a good Morty. I pray a lot."

Morty scoffed and stuffed another bite of replicated food into his mouth to prevent himself from saying something he’d regret. He gnashed his teeth, feeling as if the Church he’d once loved so fully, had always been full of nothing but hypocrisy and double standards. It seemed the only Rick who had been sincere about practicing his faith, had shamed himself out of the public image, and from the moment he left, his followers threw his name on the cross for entertainment.

Morty wondered if he were the only Church member still capable of feeling guilt. The green haired Morty scooted closer, ignoring his foul mood, and placed a hand on Morty’s shoulder in selfish consolation. Immediately, Morty wanted to shrug it away, but the physical contact admittedly felt nice. It made him feel less alone like maybe, he still belonged to the Church he’d never truly been a part of. 

“I’m here for you, Brother.” 

Morty blew out a puff of air and shrugged him off, knowing better than to fall for it, “Just tell me what you want.”

He set his meal to the side as the green haired Morty’s voice fell to a demure whisper. He glanced up and down the cloistered hallway, before placing his seemingly innocent hand on his brother’s thigh.

“I’ve been saving myself for a Rick. But I wanna make sure I’m ready for him, you know?”

Morty’s eyes narrowed, “Wait, _What?”_ He also glanced up and down the empty hall, “Wh-what does _that_ mean?” Morty dumbly breathed as his green-haired brother inched his hand toward the teen’s warming crotch. 

“I know a Rick’s touched you,” He bit his lip and spoke in both admiration and accusation, “Will you show me? How a Rick likes to be touched?”

Morty pulled the hand of his counterpart away from himself and put distance between them. That was the last thing he needed to add to his running list of sins that everyone but him seemed to know about.

“Aw Jeez, I’m uh... But I-I don’t. Sex is sacred, y’know? A-and I uh, I don’t wanna take advantage of—I don’t wanna be a pecattiphile.”

“Just a kiss.” The green-haired Morty insisted and eliminated the space once more. Without warning, he threw himself at Morty's lips, crushing them with a bruising force. Morty cried out as his counterpart furtively mashed their faces together, and the teen shoved his body away with a hard glare.

“Ow! Wh-what the hell was that!” Morty touched his fingers to his lips and cursed as his green-eyed counterpart beamed with a triumphant smile.

“Kissing?” He flipped his green hair and lifted his shoulders in a practiced, innocent shrug. Morty gritted his teeth and continued to shake his head in disbelief. There was _no way_ he could have been that bad at it. He glanced up and down the hallways, making sure they were alone.

“No!—oh my Rick—it’s not even like that! It's like…It's like…” Morty tried to explain, and groaned in frustration at having been roped into this. “Here, Just—If I show you, will you leave me alone?”

“It will be our secret.”

Morty frowned at the statement and bit his lip in deliberation: no such thing existed within the walls of the Church. If they did, they were buried beneath heavy slabs of stone. The two Mortys checked over each other’s shoulders, before returning their gazes to each other, and Morty stared into his counterpart’s dense eyes.

“Well uh, first. You uh... You should ask for permission. Even if you think you're above them or whatever.”

The black sheep shifted closer to him, and curious, leaned into his counterpart’s space, breathing against his skin as he explored the phenomena of their selves with a sense of wonder. Living on the Citadel, it was easy to forget, but as Morty touched another’s flesh as if it were his own, he was reminded of how strange it was to _literally_ see himself within the existence of another. How alike, and yet different they were.

“Can I kiss you?” Morty whispered against his counterparts lips, and the teen's motions fell still. He hesitated, before slowly nodding with a thick swallow.

He gently pressed their foreheads together, and breathed for a moment more, then lifted the Morty's chin to quietly draw their lips together in prayer.

He kissed the teen in the way he'd always wanted to be kissed and offered the earnest acceptance he’d always wanted to receive. His hands traveled with tenderness to the back of Morty’s neck and his fingers cradled around himself in a gesture of universal comfort; If it were a secret, it had always been known, and it remained unspoken between their lips as they embraced.

The clover-haired Morty melted into the touch of their lips as soft, whimpering sounds escaped their bodies. His eager hand returned to Morty’s thigh, and he passed it over Morty’s partial erection with a sudden sense of desperation. Morty groaned as the shape of his sin was acknowledged without fear. 

“Oh my Rick—”

“—Mortys! What in the name of Rick is this!”

Immediately, the pair of Mortys flew apart from each other, and frantically whipped their heads around in search of the bellowing sound. Their eyes traveled the empty hallway as the voice chuckled, then exploded into a full bout of laughter at their reaction. They glanced at each other in confusion.

“Reverend?” Morty questioned the space with a sudden frown, recognizing the unmistakable self-aggrandizing-yet-playful tone.

“No. The diegetic voice of God, you _charlatan!”_ Reverend Rick leaned into the cloister window, manifesting his presence from the paradise garden, and Morty let out a dumbfounded sigh, burying his face into his palm for not having considered the obvious. His frown deepened toward the priest who held his hand over his stomach and continued to point and laugh at the pair of flustered teenagers beneath him.

A yellow stole of cloth had been offered to Reverend Rick after last Sunday's sermon, and the priest had pridefully adorned himself with the newly-acquired status symbol. Morty overheard he’d taken to handing apples out to other Morty’s of the congregation, and jealousy flared in his chest as he took in the evidence—a basket full of them—tucked beneath his arm.

“Reverend Rick! We can explain it’s—” The green-haired Morty began to sputter an explanation and Morty cut him off, “—No, we can't. This is exactly what it looks like!”

He challenged the priest who, still giggling to himself, jumped through the low window, and landed on the glowing marble path. A few apples fell loose from his basket and bruised as they landed and rolled across the stone floor. The green-haired Morty hurried to collect them. 

“What?" Reverend Rick held out the basket, ignoring the teen who returned the fruit with shaking hands, "Two Mortys? Unable to keep their hands off each other—calling out _my_ name?”

Morty rolled his eyes and sarcastically laughed. He _would_ make something like this entirely about himself. 

“Yeah, well, if you listen to conversations uninvited you’re uh—You’re not gonna hear anything good.” He folded his arms, standing his ground as his brother’s gaze shifted between the two, silently agonizing over the intentional escalation. Morty’s didn’t challenge the Rick-authority of the Church.

“Oh, it sounded _more_ than good, Brother Morty, b~ut still a sin, and you were dumb enough to get caught.”

The reverend reached an arm out, pinching Morty’s ear. Morty cried out and blushed when he caught his counterpart silently watching his forced submission to authority. His counterpart hurridley looked away from the teen; _Out of sight, out of Mind._ Morty was about to call him out on his shit when the reverend sharply twisted the rim of his ear. Instead, he yelled out and growled at the Reverend.

“Seems like you’re a little overdue for a confession. I’ll walk you over.”

Reverend Rick turned to the green-haired Morty and offered a sympathetic nod, tossing him a damaged piece of fruit.

“Of course, an exemplary Morty of virtue such as yourself would have _never_ initiated such a sinful display. Great blessings await you, my son. Had _this_ little sinner had gotten his way," he shook his head disapprovingly, " _your Rick_ would’ve paid the price.”

The green haired Morty said nothing and stared hard at the ground. He tightly clenched the apple in his hand until it shook. 

“Forgive me—”

“—I'm a Rick who can find it in my heart to forgive, but some of them?" He pointed to the bruised surface of the apple's flesh, held in the teen's hand, "They don’t like impurities.”

The green-haired Morty brought his hands up to his neck in a self-soothing gesture as Reverend Rick pulled Morty away from his meal. He muttered aloud to himself as his long legs strode down the hallway, dragging the teen by ear in his wake. They rounded a corner and the priest released his hold on Morty, who huffed and trailed after the Priest, trying to match his pace.

“Didn’t know you were into that kind of sin, Reverend." He provoked. "Y-you think he’s into Mortys—”

“—Remember when I warned you about playing with fire, Morty? Yeah, well—nobody likes a cocky Morty. Causes _a lot_ of problems for everyone.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Morty narrowed his eyes and played the game he’d been playing all week in the walls of the Church. Without skipping a beat Reverend Rick dismissively countered, pulling out his flask to take a sip as they made their way to the cathedra.

“Playing dumb isn’t a good look on you.” He stated point blank, and Morty jogged to place himself beside the reverend, inviting the priest to see him.

“Yeah, well what other role do I have to play? I’ve been left in the dark about whatever’s been going on behind closed doors, wh-while you give out delicious apples to other Morty’s like they’re candy. What else am I supposed to—”

“—Mmm, jealousy’s a _much_ better look on you.” He interrupted with a smirk, and pointedly shifted the basket of apples beneath his arm. “Look, halo chase all you want, but _that one?_ Hell, you might as well be putting the match to your own judgement stake... crazy-repressed-cock is a fun time—but _we’ve_ already got your hands full with Grandfather Rick.”

“Grandfather Rick?” Morty’s pace slowed as he fell back into line, “Is he doing okay?”

 _“Well,_ my little wayward lamb, that’s why I was looking for you. Did I not tell you to have faith?”

Morty swallowed, and Reverend Rick reached out to take the teen’s hand, pulling him toward the confessional.

***

“Welcome home.”

Reverend Rick smiled as he opened the curtain, ushering the teen behind the spiritual veil.

Grandfather Rick had once confided to the priest that at the time he was taken in _by the grace of the Infinite Rick,_ the once-emaciated youth had been living out of a cardboard box on the Citadel streets. Morty maneuvered his stick-like frame into the small space, perching himself onto the wooden bench as if it were second nature. The way his shoulders and muscles immediately and visibly relaxed in the enclosed space, Reverend Rick could see how the confessional held some resemblance to what had once been his home. 

“You like this box.” He’d closed the curtain behind him, and the boy pressed his cheek against the wall as if it were an old friend; he closed his eyes, thankful for the respite. There had been reports and rumors alike that Morty had been acting out like a _cocky little shit_ over the past few days, but the Reverend couldn’t blame him.

Nothing moved the Church to action quite like a sensationalized scandal, and the teen had found himself the unknowing and unwilling poster child of their collective fantasies. Lashing out with an honest tongue was far more virtuous than what the Priest would have done had he found _his_ name on their scandal-mongering lips.

Fortunately for the Reverend, God listened to everyone's sins and held an affinity for divine retribution. No one even dared whisper his secrets.

“I feel safe in here too.” He confided in the teen and draped his yellow stole over the window, granting them more privacy, “Small space. Semi-open window to the side. Really makes it feel like home...like something from a past life.”

He slotted himself between Morty’s knees and settled himself at the teen’s feet. At eye level, he reached out, and took the boy’s hand in a gesture of solidarity, wrapping it within the pair of his own. The two were silent for a moment before Morty eventually broke with a forlorn, exhausted sigh. 

“Everyone has my name on their tongue, and I don’t even know what it is they’re talking about!”

“Of course you do.” He kissed Morty’s fingers with reverence, “Grandfather Rick's fallen from his state of grace, so naturally, they’re pointing their fingers at the lustful twinkle in your eyes. You've never been exactly _subtle_ about your devotions.” 

“Ugh, what do they know! I sinned with you way more with you than I’ve ever sinned with—”

“—Yeah well, _I’m_ not the one who decided to virtuously wear my sins and take a walk of shame ‘round the cloisters like this were some kind of an exomologesis. I know my worth, little lamb— the worth of my sins—I don't need others to put a dollar sign on them.”

“My brother. He didn’t even hesitate to let me take the fall…” Morty began, and his voice was far too laden with complicated emotions as he spoke about the green-haired teen he’d kissed with way too much honesty. Reverend Rick held the color of envy on his tongue. He didn't like others fucking around with what was his.

"You've never been good at hiding your emotions, little lamb. Or, more like you're not afraid to wear 'em on your sleeve." He squeezed his hands around teen's and attempted to reciprocate his vulnerability, "If you ask me...It's the best thing about you."

“I wish I didn’t care what they thought about Grandfather Rick. About me… but I do.” Morty’s voice quietly confessed. He withdrew his hand from the reverend, and buried his face into it, “I feel like this is all my fault!” 

“Hey, remember?" Reverend Rick pulled Morty into a tight hug, "We’re in this sin together.”

Morty returned it, holding back the wave of sobs, “Ugh! I’m so done with tears!”

The teen pulled away from the reverend and his hands traveled toward his own pants. He urgently began to unfasten them, shedding the layers from his body with sudden desperation. He fought to maneuver the layers of fabric in the small space and let out an angry, honest growl.

“I Just. I need to feel something _else,_ Reverend!" Morty kicked his shoes away, followed by his trousers, then his undergarments. Reverend Rick watched the situation escalate, mouth agape.

"I-I need you to put it in me!"

"I thought we were playing _hard to get."_

The priest frowned at the overeager display, as Morty began to open his shirt to him, "Just this once."

Reverend Rick didn’t respond well to being ordered around, especially when he had much greater plans in store for Morty. Plans, which Morty nearly sabotaged by throwing his virtue at the first Morty who asked him to sin.

He tsked, clicking his tongue in disapproval, and shook his head with a not-so-sympathetic tone. 

"That wasn't part of our deal, Morty." He chided the teen, feeling himself tighten in his jeans at the reckless invitation, nonetheless, "We’re saving you for Grandfather Rick."

Morty groaned in protest, and continued to pull his shirt off, "Argh, I don't care anymore!"

“I do. My word is my bond.” The priest's eyes traveled Morty’s naked form, clothed only by the shining symbol of his faith; adorned with a pair of iridescent eyes. The precious colors tantalizingly caught against the lowlights, and Reverend Rick reluctantly turned down the temptation.

He wanted the teen to offer himself to the reverend, but not like this.

"Just the tip.” Morty pleaded.

"Pssh, just the tip—” Reverend Rick rolled his eyes at the compromise, “—Look, how ‘bout I expand your worldview with a workaround that's a little more creative."

Reverend Rick worked the cuffs of his sleeve open, rolling the fabric up the naked flesh of his forearm.

Morty watched him with eager curiosity, as the reverend moved to unfastened his trousers. He exposed his erection, pulling it and his balls free from the cloth of his ministry. The priest indulged himself with a groan and a few quick strokes, grateful to let the blood flow freely as it bobbed in the darkness beneath them. Morty gasped when it's slick head brushed against the underside of the teen's thigh, smearing a streak of sin against his skin. 

“I wanna make you feel so dirty, little lamb... The plans I've made for you.”

Reverend Rick chuckled as he caught the underside of Morty's knees and lifted them, folding them into the boy's chest. He bit his lips at the tight pink hole that was revealed to him and smirked when Morty suddenly fell quiet. He caught the matching shade of honest color scorching itself across Morty’s cheeks, and Reverend Rick buried his mouth into the tight heat, sucking at the teen’s blushing entrance. He shamelessly prodded his tongue against the circular gate.

Morty let out a surprised sound and braced his feet against the wall of the confessional behind them. He covered his mouth in an attempt to remain silent, but his leg uncontrollably vibrated against the wall. Reverend Rick chuckled, tightening his grip around Morty's knee to hold him still, and slurped a wet trail against the underside of the teen's balls: a reminder of their last encounter.

"Wanna—hnnngg—wanna feel you, Reverend!" Morty continued to pray.

Reverend Rick paused, and Morty’s fingers clenched around the priest’s shoulder. He wiggled his ass, searching for more, and the priest released the teen's knees, tightening them around the older man's sides.

"Be still." He commanded as he stroked himself, reaching beneath the bench to grab his vial of blessed oil. He drizzled a generous amount onto a pair of fingers, and teasingly circled the boy’s entrance. Without warning, he snaked his middle finger into the teen, burying himself to the knuckle, while stroking himself in turn.

Morty’s entire body stiffened and he wrenched his hands into the priest's fabric, biting into his lip with a satisfied groan. Reverend Rick moved his finger inside of him and leaned against his ear.

"Can you feel that, little lamb? Can you feel my presence?"

The teen's muscles spasmed around him and Reverend Rick groaned at the sensation. He found the fruit of the teen’s tightly wound bundle of nerves and slipped the tip of his finger over the fleshy mound. Morty jerked against him and quickly dug his teeth into the priest's shoulder, groaning hard into the fabric. The priest chuckled, teasing the teen as he continued to circle the shape of his prostate at a torturous speed.

“Shhhh,” he warned with smug whisper. “Gotta be quiet, little lamb… wouldn’t want anyone to find out how beautifully you worship him—shamelessly fucking yourself on my finger... wishing it were the cock of your god-damned saint.”

Morty’s teeth clenched around his shoulder with more pressure, and Reverend Rick groaned. He bit his lip and closed his eyes at the sensation, exhilarating at the idea of the teen trying so hard to remain quiet, while being so completely aroused at the possibility of getting caught.

He rewarded the teen, rocking the blunt tip of his erection against Morty to tease him with the fantasy of having it. The warm rod of flesh suggestively slipped along the underside of the teen's thighs. 

“What do you want, Morty?” He encouraged, daring the teen to make some noise, “You wanna warm my cock while I listen to everyone’s filthy fucking sins today?”

Morty’s face flushed, and his eyes filled with honest clashing emotions at the invitation. Reverend Rick saw him, still saving his virginal body for the Grandfather. The teen hid his face from the reverend and made an attempt to speak. A stream of pleasured moans begged for mercy in the confessional.

"Mmmmm…..More. R-Revrend. I want—want more."

Reverend Rick acquiesced to Morty's prayers, and slipped a second pair of fingers into the teen's mouth, holding his tongue, "Didn’t I say _good things come to those who wait?”_

Morty's lips pleadingly wrapped around the reverend's fingers and he desperately nodded. The reverend added his second, anointed finger against the entrance of the teen's ass, and fucked the tight hole open, twisting his hand as he thrust the new width into Morty's body.

Light spilled into the other side of the confessional, and both of their motions stilled. Reverend Rick lowered his voice to a whisper and kissed Morty’s cheek with a gracious smile. 

“Then have a little faith in me."

Morty was about to whine in protest, but the voice on the other side of the confessional interrupted them.

“Forgive Me, Reverend.” 

The voice of Grandfather Rick filtered through the barrier, and Reverend Rick felt Morty's entire naked body turn to stone. The priest stretched, cracking his back and shuddered in pleasure. A wicked grin spread across his face as he matched Morty’s gaze. The teen's eyes were blown wide in panic, and Reverend Rick felt his muscles seize around the older man's flesh. 

There were no coincidences in the reverend's faith, but all things considered, the exceptional lack of clothing was truly a blessing.

“You're late, Grandfather,” He began, with a perfectly even voice, “I’ll forgive your trespasses if you forgive mine.”

Morty’s panicked face looked to the screen barrier covered by the thin strip of cloth, then back toward the reverend who withdrew his finger from Morty's tongue and pressed it against the teen's lips before raising it to his own, commanding silence. Grandfather Rick hissed as he shifted on the bare of his still-bruised ass, moving into a more comfortable position. He released a heavy sigh as he continued to confide his woes.

"A portion of eternity too great for the eye of man...so too the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.”

Reverend Rick hummed in acknowledgment, and pressed his pair of fingers against Morty's prostate, adding a thumb against the teen’s perineum. Morty’s body silently shivered, and Reverend Rick smiled as he watched the boy's erection. The fattened muscle had grown so swollen, that it could no longer hold its own weight. It flopped against the teen’s stomach, twitching and leaking with every word the grandfather spoke.

"Well, your _fairest joy's_ been acting out like a little hellion in your absence." He punctuated the statement with a sharp thrust into the teen's body, "You need to get your shit together so you can rein in your Morty. Preferably with that shepherd's crook of yours."

Morty had clenched his eyes shut in a moment of spiritual concentration. He swallowed, hard, and was visibly biting his cheek in restraint. Reverend Rick turned his attention back toward the Grandfather and mirthfully chuckled across the barrier. He mercilessly continued to work his fingers into the teen's body.

"I kissed him, Reverend."

Morty opened his eyes and jerked again in panic, and Reverend Rick caressed his hand over the teen’s thigh to calm him. The teen took long, careful breaths.

"So he's confessed...he's not the type to kiss and tell, but it sounded like you two did _a lot_ more than that."

"I lost sight of myself! I told him so many shameless things!” The grandfather confessed, but immediately defended himself, “But I stopped myself, just short of defiling him—"

“—If you ask me, you should've—Thanks for that, by the way—sending his blue-balled, piss-poor attitude straight to my temporary office."

"I couldn't. Not after—"

"—He's been saving himself for you." The Reverend confessed through gritted teeth, and stilled his motions. "Sure, we've been fucking around, but he's been waiting for you. All this time, Grandfather."

The desperate sound Grandfather Rick made on the other side of the barrier caused Morty's dick to visibly pulse. Reverend Rick cleared his throat over the sound of the teen’s sigh.

"You should be calling me a goddamn martyr for resisting _that_ temptation, but I gotta confess. _My will is wearing thin."_

Reverend Rick, buried his face into the teen's chest, resisting the urge to bite and claim it as his own.

“Right now? Are you hard, thinking about him?”

“Yes.” The Grandfather hesitated, before shamefully confessing. An ashamed moan softly spilled into the confessional, as the elder began to touch himself. Reverend Rick encouraged him.

“Deliver yourself with me."

Morty clenched around the reverend’s fingers at the forbidden sounds, and the priest nodded, motioning for silence once again.

"Let us pray for him.”

The grandfather's soft whimpers traveled through the barrier between them and Morty instinctively reached for the reverend's cross, clutching it tightly within his hands as he listened to the grandfather's desperate, moaning prayer.

Morty shifted himself against the Reverend's fingers, and the priest rocked his hips forward, biting his lip at the sight of the naked teen. Morty was spread open before him, silently fucking the minister's fingers to the salacious sounds of Grandfather Rick's uncontrolled masturbating. He groaned, pressing their bodies flush together in debauchery, and imagined himself offering so much more. He worked his fingers deeper into the teen and rutted his erection against the naked flesh, moaning against the boy's silent cry. It escaped his small frame in a full body tremble.

“Does it feel good?" The reverend spoke aloud to both of them, "Imagining him?”

“—He has no idea." Grandfather Rick panted with a groan, "H-how I've touched myself to the thought of him... how long I've desired him….from the first night. Since that first night...he's set fire to the blood in my veins! I've been blessed and cursed with sinful visions of our bodies tangled into monstrous forms! When he lay beside me. I watched him sleep, Reverend. I wanted to see more of him...wanted to undress him!” 

Morty's lips parted in praise, as Reverend Rick continued to rock his hips. He watched his fingers slip in and out of the teen’s forbidden heat, and matched his pace with the grandfather.

“Tell me more. About these _concupiscent_ visions.”

“They've kept me up at night! You…both of you! You touching him—defiling him! Using his flesh while I watch...helpless to… interfere. He calls for me, and I go to him.”

The reverend moved a hand across Morty’s chest, and tightened his hold on the teen. 

“Mmm, there’s a lot to unpack there, Grandfather: Him, begging for salvation—”

“—Yes!” The grandfather gasped, and his shudder was felt by all through the confessional.

“I’d offer him to you..." Reverend Rick leaned into Morty's ear and continued to speak, loud enough for the grandfather to hear, "...I'd desecrate him beneath your loving gaze.”

He continued to rock his fingers into the teen, simulating the motion of his own sex with a pleasured groan. His erection ached beneath him and his movements grew urgent. He pressed his teeth against the teen's skin, holding himself back from sinking them into the invitation of his ripe flesh. His hand constricted around the teen’s thigh with a possessive hold, and he hissed.

“I’d fuck that tight little halo of his until you couldn't resist his cries, Grandfather.” 

Grandfather Rick offered a pleasured moan and Morty was about to join them, but Reverend Rick’s hand snaked out, and his fingers quickly wrapped over Morty's mouth. He pinned the teen’s body firmly against the wall.

“Call out to him!” Reverend Rick commanded to the grandfather. He withdrew his fingers from Morty’s ass and reached toward the floor of the confessional, feeling around the darkened space until his fingers wrapped around the shape of an apple. He grinned and shoved it firmly into the teen’s Mouth before returning freshly lubed fingers to the boy’s entrance. 

“Morty, My son!” Grandfather Rick called out to the teen. Morty's teeth sank into the fruit with a distinctive crunch.

“Are you imagining that hand is his?” The reverend directed Morty’s hand to his swollen erection and moaned when the teen began to stroke the sheath of his flesh. 

“Me too.”

The atmosphere of the confessional had grown thick and humid, and Morty clenched himself around the illusory cock as the spirit of the seamless fantasy moved between their bodies.

his nostrils flared as he offered himself to the carnal sensations of his flesh and strained against the crimson gag in his mouth. Fragrant juices trailed down the line of his neck, and Reverend Rick lapped at the drippings. He held the shaking fruit of the teen’s body in his covetous hands. 

“My son!”

The forbidden image of Grandfather Rick, sobbing as he came, was obscured by the cloth barrier, but Morty heard his call and immediately chased after him. His small body shuddered and clenched around the priest in its wake and the reverend ministered to him through it, bringing him down in tender, intimate strokes. Reverend Rick bowed his head against the teen's sticky chest and moved the mess of his unclean hand between his legs. 

He licked the sugary juices and seed from Morty's nipple as he shamelessly stroked himself, dragging the salivating tip of his erection against the bottom of Morty’s ass. He removed the apple from Morty’s mouth, and took of it, gnashing the sweetness in his teeth. He sealed their lips together in silent confession, as rapture claimed his flesh. In a series of shuddering spurts, he spilled his seed onto the bare of Morty’s ass and collapsed his weight onto the teen's naked body.

He panted against him for a moment of silence, before offering absolution. 

_"De hac nocte. Sextus campane in occursum mihi. Quaerentibus lumen sub stellarum."_

Still breathing heavily, Grandfather Rick rose, transferring the weight of his flesh to his staff. In silence, he excused himself from the confessional, and Reverend Rick sealed his lips over Morty’s heart, clenching the partially eaten apple in his soiled grip. 

“Have faith.”

He whispered the sinner's prayer to the teen. Reverend Rick would raze the multiverse to answer Morty’s.

*** 

The symbol rang through the dead of the night. Like a harbinger of judgment, each deafening burst of the Church bell’s cry resonated with a sense of ominous foreboding.

“No one enters the gates of hell without a cross on their back.”

Grandfather Rick stepped lightly into the hallowed embrace of the cathedra. The rhythmic pulse of his staff thrummed atop the stone surface as he made his journey to the altar. He dropped the piece of wood to the stone floor, and Reverend Rick lifted the shepherd's ink-stained hand into his own. They worshiped, listening to the hallowed tone in communal silence, and lifted their yearning gaze to the invisible barrier that stretched above. 

“You once confided in me..." Grandfather Rick began. His azure eyes traced the weight-bearing pillars as if they were the stone bars to his own cell, "...You thought of yourself as a prisoner here." 

“We're all slave to something." Reverend Rick shrugged, holding his gaze on the artificial stars. His flesh tightened around the hand of his counterpart.

"My freedom's in choosing which master to serve."

Grandfather Rick pulled his hand away from the priest, and moved instead, to give light to one of the altar's candles. It burst to life and pulsed against the smooth black surface of stone below. In reflective silence, the pastoral Rick watched the stillness of the flame before giving voice to his thoughts. 

”Hell is other Ricks."

A joyless laugh, flickered sardonically over Reverend Rick's tongue, stirring the flame’s shape, "Either way, it’s fucking illuminating. We locked ourselves in here with nothing but our own worst sins—It’s the kind of thing that only an act of God could reveal."

He joined Grandfather Rick in worship, spreading the light of his intentions in a carefully controlled burn, before extinguishing it with an unforgiving exhale. He repeated the ritual, beginning with a single candle. The renewed flame crackled and popped beneath his gentle breath.

"Rick's can't help but seek to satisfy their own psychotic need to burn."

He turned his gaze toward Grandfather Rick and manifested a small black box. He opened it to reveal a black strip of cloth. Each end, delicately folded over the shape of a half circle, and as the Reverend lifted the object in his hands, the silver pieces of the halo sounded against each other in a vibrant song.

"Surrender yourself to me."

Grandfather Rick studied the symbol, and lifted his slender fingers to the fastenings of his robes, and held the priest's amber gaze as he worked each weighted layer free. He took a deep breath rolled his shoulders back, allowing the fabric to ripple and pool around his feet. 

Reverend Rick took in the naked body and licked his lips in silence, matching his counterpart's azure stare. His erection tightened against the restraint of his cloth, and the minister stepped closer, circling the living flesh and blood which had been offered to him.

"The Most beautiful heretics come from an attempt to tie together paradoxes within their faith."

Grandfather Rick sucked in a stream of air as his hardening erection moved beneath the stripping gaze. He held his dignified posture, and with grace, lifted his chin upward in invitation.

"I was saving a word for our illiterate lamb," Reverend Rick drew the ordained cloth around his counterpart's throat, joining the broken pieces of the halo together over the back of his neck. The ring of silver fell discreetly against his skin, and the elder shivered against its cold touch. Reverend Rick breathed hot against it.

"Religion.”

The ribbon of cloth cradled the contours of Grandfather Rick's neck, embracing his body with an intimate caress. It's smooth surface seamlessly melded onto the surface of his flesh, unforgivably staining the pale color with the symbolic manifestation of his sin. 

_“Religare,”_ Grandfather Rick tested his voice, and lifted his ink-stained fingers to the collar. He hesitated before brushing the tips of his flesh against it. Reverend Rick slipped a finger beneath the cloth to feel the security of its presence, before bowing his head to kiss the elder's nape. His lips fell just below the glistening clasp, and he moved the soft pair of muscles against his counterpart's skin, translating the word's significance.

“To continuously bind.” 

Reverend Rick circled the grandfather's body and stood before his reflection. The modest piece of cloth elevated the beauty of his nakedness, and the minister's breath grew thick as he took of the grandfather’s body in devotion.

The priest reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against the surface of the grandfather's skin, tasting him with reverence. He grazed the tips of his flesh against the dark collar, feeling blessed by the depth of given trust.

His eyes returned to the grandfather as a groan caught in his counterpart’s throat; the black bar trembled in restraint, and Reverend Rick dragged a thumb against its unspoken cry. He drew their lips together and invoked its essence on their tongues.

A pair of hands found the still-bruised-and-damaged flesh of Grandfather Rick's ass and he bit his fingertips into the bony surface, pulling their hips together in a shared moment of ecstasy. 

“In this void?” Reverend Rick hissed and studied the grandfather’s face, shamefully burning with desire. He guided his counterpart’s sullen hands to rest atop the smooth surface, and whispered into his ear, “I’m the closest thing you’re gonna get to something divine."

He commanded the elder's naked body over the frigid surface, and Grandfather Rick gasped into the shock of sensations as the warm body of his flesh was willed against it. Reverend Rick traced his hands over the shape of the grandfather’s body as it shivered beneath him.

Reverend Rick pressed the warmth of his own beside him in comfort. They gazed into their image, flickering against the smooth surface of the altar in the candle’s ambient light.

“The brightest star never attempted reconciliation. Do you think the _bearer of light_ would’ve been forgiven? For wanting to corrupt all of mankind and prove that such a _perfect creation_ was fallible, weak and debased?”

Grandfather Rick grit his teeth and shifted against the warm press of the reverend’s chest against his back, and priest left his question unanswered in the void. He lifted his gaze above them and continued his sermon. 

“From here, their light burns that much brighter, but our sins are made with the same fundamental materials that lit the stars—governed and shaped by the same physical laws of the multiverse."

Instinctivley, Grandfather Rick’s eyes searched out the light of the candles burning around them, and Reverend Rick reached for the closest. In a practiced motion, he tipped it over the back of the grandfather’s flesh.

"It's conservation of energy.”

The thick drops of fire seared across his senses, before quickly cooling and fading. Grandfather Rick cried out and gnashed his teeth against the altar's surface searching for more. His body stirred to life as the warm blood surged, flowing freely in his veins. Reverend Rick set the candle aside, and the grandfather whimpered in protest.

“Without something to burn, The Light of the Infinite Rick is unable to exist."

Reverend Rick plucked at the hardened pieces of wax, admiring his work, and Grandfather Rick hissed at the cold shock of air as it spilled against his damaged flesh. The poignant fragrance of roses bloomed into the cathedra, and Reverend Rick pressed his nose against the grandfather’s skin, indulging the sweetness of its brutalized essence. 

"There is no religion without sin."

The minister reached gentle hands around them and lifted the Grandfathers gaze, holding it against the void-like emptiness of their reflection. Reverend Rick pressed his face beside the grandfathers, and with heat and moisture emanating in his words, he guided the grandfather’s blackened hand to wrap around his own weeping erection.

The hairs on the back of Grandfather Rick’s neck were raised as the divine voice commanded heresy. 

“Worship yourself.”

The reverend’s hands guided Grandfather Rick’s for a few gentle strokes, before withdrawing his presence, moving his fingers instead to constrict around his counterpart’s hips. Grandfather Rick’s breathing grew heavy and labored as he watched the sinful movements of his flesh reflected beneath him. He clenched his eyes shut, but the priest immediately called out to him.

“Look at your reflection. Truthfully and sincerely before your God, confess. Tell me what you see."

Grandfather Rick swallowed, and continued to shamefully stroke himself, “I see a ████████.”

 _“Monstrum._ It describes that which is both beautiful and repulsive.” Reverend Rick groaned, bowing forward to lick a wet trail of saliva against his shoulder, “The word to describe a divine omen.” Grandfather shuddered, as he stared at the collar around his neck, feeling unworthy of his counterpart’s acceptance.

“I’m ███.” He glared at the image of himself with anger and resentment, “I’m ████.”

“There is beauty in your fragility, Grandfather.” Once more, Reverend Rick warmly bowed against him to kiss the back of his neck and shoulders, “I see wisdom and experience in the age of your flesh.”

Tears welled against the corners of eyes, and he stared at the darkest of his sins.

“I’m a ██████.”

A hand struck the bruised bare of his ass; a silent reminder of the reverend’s word. The priest reached for the stone pitcher beside them and graciously poured a stream of fragrant, anointing oil across the grandfather’s flesh, “Without form and void... You've built this entire faith with these sullen hands.”

Warming hands blessed the oil into the surface of the grandfather’s weathered skin, “You’ve come all this way looking for redemption that you're only ever gonna find within.”

The reverend leaned forward to lick the tears from the grandfather's face. He groaned as he tasted their emotions on his tongue. He tilted the grandfather’s chin away from their reflection and pressed their lips together with a sudden sense of urgency.

"Fuck me!"

Beneath him, Grandfather Rick begged, widening his stance as he surrendered to his sins. Reverend Rick’s hands reached down and worked open the cloth of his ministry, revealing himself. He spread open the bruised cheeks of the grandfather’s ass, pressing his anointed erection against the yearning entrance. He guided himself into the grandfather’s flesh, then with a sudden jolting force, thrust his weight forward into the heat of his body. Together they cried out, and the reverend called to him. 

“Share your suffering with me.” 

In the empty cathedra above, the Star of Damocles ignited with their will. It’s incandescent flame burst to life, casting the divine light of its inferno into the darkness below.

“Let there be light." He proclaimed.

“You're addicted to vice.” Grandfather Rick gasped as the priest moved inside of him. Reverend Rick rolled his hips into the grandfather’s body, reflecting the sentiment.

“And you’re addicted to virtue.” He exhaled labored groaning breaths as he pushed himself deeper. Their weight tumbled over the edge of the altar, and against their reflection, Grandfather Rick caught the light of the star slowly descending upon them. He bowed his head against the unmoving stone altar as his slick body slid against its sacrificial surface.

Reverend Rick kissed the halo wrapping around his counterpart’s neck, and with each sharp thrust, the priest drew out the sound, naming the Grandfather’s sins.

“███████”, He groaned, “Fuck, you’re a █████████.”

The minister tangled his hand in a fistful of hair, wrenching it in his grasp. Grandfather Rick’s flesh tightened around the reverend, and he cried out with a salacious moan. The rhythmic noise of their slapping skin rang out like the hallowed sound of the Church's bell.

“Fuck, I wanna gaze upon your face as the rapture claims you. Wanna bear witness to how much of gorgeous fucking ████-████ you are.”

Reverend Rick withdrew himself and turned the grandfather’s body to face him, lifting his flesh on the edge of the stone altar. He positioned himself between the grandfather’s parted gates, cursing in exaltation as he sank back into their union. A pair of legs fell against the reverend’s hips, and the flesh of his balls pressed against his counterpart’s sullen ass.

The star continued to fall upon them, and Reverend Rick pressed a searing kiss into the grandfather. They spoke entangled in tounges, between desperate panting breaths and moans. The reverend moved erratically inside of him, bringing them closer to salvation. The grandfather wrapped his bone-white knuckles around the altar’s edge and moaned.

“You wanna know what we’re gonna burn for?”

The reverend's hand coiled around the grandfather's weeping erection, and his breath grew ragged as he whispered the revelating words of condemnation against his flesh. The light of the star was upon them.

“Everything.”

Grandfather Rick cried out; he pressed lips onto the shape of his crown.

“Let it be done with love.”

Reverend Rick nodded, offering a final passionate kiss, before mounting the grandfather’s flesh against the star. He buried his phallus deeper into the tremoring flesh, and their bodies shook in rapture as they came.

Grandfather Rick desecrated himself and wailed against the searing pain. In anguish, he dug his nails into the reverend, clawing at his neck and shoulders in desperate search of something to hold onto. He shook, as the smell of burning flesh sweetly rose into the cathedra. The reverend called out to him.

“How does it feel?”

Grandfather Rick’s eyes dilated before the beatific vision as his body continued to thrash in ecstasy against the flames. The grotesque, carnal sound of his voice cried out in a strangulated moan.

“Divine.”

His muscles seized in rapture, clenching into terrible, unmoving stillness, before simultaneously releasing at once.

His head fell forward as he blacked out from the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I Promise the next will have a lot more Grandfather Rick and Morty (and also the long-awaited threesomes) In the meantime, check out the beautiful art for this fic on the [ Starry AU fic page. ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/confirmation.html) Thanks so much for the art, kudos, and comments! 
> 
> **Overview Effect:** Grandfather Rick experiences the overview effect when he first opens the interdimensional portal. The overview effect is a cognitive shift in awareness reported by some astronauts during spaceflight, often while viewing the Earth from outer space.
> 
> It is the experience of seeing first-hand the reality of the Earth in space, which is immediately understood to be a tiny, fragile ball of life, "hanging in the void", shielded and nourished by a paper-thin atmosphere. From space, national boundaries vanish, the conflicts that divide people become less important, and the need to create a planetary society with the united will to protect this "pale blue dot" becomes both obvious and imperative.
> 
>  **Contrapasso:** Reverend Rick ambiguously offers contrapasso, when Grandfather Rick confesses his sin of love. Contrapasso is derived from the Latin contra and patior, which mean "suffer the opposite". It refers to the punishment of souls in Dante's Inferno, "by a process either resembling or contrasting with the sin itself." (I.E. The punishment should fit the crime.) 
> 
> **More on the free will theory** The idea of free will theory is that evil can’t be avoided without depriving us of freedom, so God maximized happiness by allowing free will, however, this argument only addresses moral evil. The free will defense can’t resolve natural/cosmic evil. This fic explores the idea of tragedy on the Citadel, and Ricks and Mortys ability to act/react to circumstances with free will. 
> 
> **Behold the Stars:** Quote from Dante’s Inferno. Dante and Virgil return to the shining world from hell and in a cathartic moment, the first sight they take in is the stars. 
> 
> **Truth and Beauty:** is a reference to the poem, “Ode to a Grecian Urn” by John Keats. It explores the terror found within a work of art’s moment of suspension and explores the paradoxes of time and eternity through a humanistic lens. He sees the frozen moment in time as both beautiful and tragic. In the Starry AU, time moves at a slower rate, which is why Grandfather Rick likes to make the claim of the citadel giving everlasting life. 
> 
> **“I can turn a black hole into a sun, but I couldn’t make it work”** Is a quote from the show where Rick talks about his marriage. 
> 
> **Mephistopheles:** A demon featured in German Folklore. He is already trapped in his own hell serving the Devil. He warns Faustus of the choice to “Sell his Soul”, and advises him not to forgo the promise of heaven for the temporary hedonistic pleasures of life.
> 
>  **Symbols of Faith:** This chapter plays with the concept/symbols of faith. Grandfather Rick’s complexes are the foundation of the Church, and he has imposed his faith onto the Citadel, while Morty hides the symbol, unsure of what it currently means to him. Reverend Rick utilizes the meaning others give them and creates his own symbols to serve his needs. This fic is gonna continue playing with the idea of symbolic interactionism. 
> 
> **Star of Damocles:** Set that up all the way in the beginning. See Ch.2 for endnotes.

**Author's Note:**

> ###  Starry AU Extras
> 
>        
>  [ ✦ Confirmation Fic Webpage ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/confirmation.html)   
>  [ ✦ Starry AU Homepage ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/index.html)   
>  [ ✦ Fic Update Schedule ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/index.html#status)   
>  [ ✦ Starry AU Worldbuilding](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/index.html#world)   
>  [ ✦ Citadel Citizens ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/citadel-citizens.html)   
>  [ ✦ Citadel Locations ](https://starry-citadel-au.neocities.org/citadel-locations.html)   
> 
>   
> 
> 
> ###  Starry AU Constellation Map (Interconnected characters & fics in this AU)
> 
>     [✦ Weird Rick (C-137) ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/STARRYAU/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Weird+Rick+-+Character&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&collection_id=139130%20%20rel=)  
> [✦ Brother Morty ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/STARRYAU/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Brother+Morty&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&collection_id=139130)
>   
> 
> 
> ### Kudos & Comments = ❤
> 
> I love kudos and comments way more than I should. If you are enjoying this story let me know, but if for whatever reason you choose not to, I still appreciate that you are reading my work.


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